Her name was Sally. She was 21, so she told everyone, but in reality nobody knows her real age.

She works as a massage-call-girl, so every time you need her, you call her cellphone and she will come, anywhere, to give you a little massage, or more, should you wish her to.

She would gently rub your pain and your fatigue and jerk you off for a little extra money.

Then one day, mother luck decided to shine on Sally and she met Vince. Vince the prince who fell in love with her, and so off they went into a so-called relationship, and after some time, Sally got knocked up.

Nobody really knew whose baby it was, since she didn’t stop massaging even after he started supporting her financially.

Three months gone, she started to hate the baby.

Four months gone, she started to regret it deeply.

And five months gone, she decided to abort it.

The only problem is, after five months it is not only a lifeless bulk of flesh and blood: it now breathes, its heart beats, its body has formed and it has become, if not entirely, a real human being.

But if you’re a selfish slut, what do you care?

You just went to see that dirty doctor down the dark corner somewhere in Kota and you got it done in an hour or two.

You just let a life being ripped apart, flesh being torn, blood being spilled, and it’s not just anybody, it’s your own flesh and blood.

That’s the point when you can no longer call yourself slut: that’s the moment you must call yourself a murderer.

Honey was 19, beautiful, young, fresh and tantalizingly sexy, a real succulent beside the old homegrown weeds of bored housewives.

When Karisma welcomed Honey – a best friend she made on the first day of her freshman year at university – into her home, she had unconsciously set fire to her quiet house life.

For Karisma’s father, 52-year-old Harris, had secretly been nurturing an obsession towards younger women: he was secretly obsessed with those Japanese porn starlets from all the DVDs he got in the bronxy Glodok. And Honey never had a father – all her life she had always been missing and longing to have just one dad, a fact that led her only too often towards underage prostitution she started in high school. Honey had always been a mistress to many old men, men who were old enough to be her father.

The perfect pervert met the perfect little slut.

Shortly after she got introduced into Karisma’s house, Honey and Harris started a turbulent affair – what was actually intended to be casual sex sessions quickly turned out to be a horrid love liaison. Honey was pregnant with twins – yes, a 19-year-old chick is normally (and usually) fertile. And yes, men can still impregnate women until they’re 70 or 80.

Harris left his wife of 33-year-marriage and their four teen-to-adult kids. To be with someone 33 years younger. To say fuck off to all the family life they had built for more than three decades. Love rusts somehow.

Karisma’s family lived in my neighborhood a few years ago and the affair was much talked about. For months and months, women would gossip about the affair over morning teas and toasts, latently warning their husbands, and men innocently dreamed about that hot ass who took away the father of a family.

Years after, I still remember what happened to Karisma’s family after her dad took off with her own best friend: they went bankrupt, for over a year they couldn’t even pay the bills – electricity and water were cut off, as well as the phone lines. At the end, they had to sell the big house they were living in, moved to some far, far away suburbia where it’d take you hours to reach downtown Jakarta, and we’ve never heard from them since.

Fellow girls out there, please listen, and think again, before you become some married man’s mistress, before you wreck a home, think again, listen to your heart, tell yourself about the karma police, what goes around comes around. Don’t be such a selfish bitch!

BB has got her first reader email!

From Nicole, who wants me to publish her story: XXX and OOO!

* * *

Have you ever, been betrayed by someone you loved so much? Someone you adored, who called and hung out with you everyday, whom you go everywhere with, who spent a lot of time actually listening to your love stories of despair because a man you care about just acts like he doesn’t know your feelings.

Well I did, and I know how deep it cuts. Yesterday the truth hit me like a bomb and I just realized that I didn’t even know who she is, anymore. That I could never trust her again. Could not ever.

I found Tara, my own so-called best friend, in bed with Tony. And she knows how I feel about him. Since months. Almost a year now. She exactly knows how I feel about Tony.

The most idiotic part about this was, that I actually bumped on their love affair by a coincidence. I wanted to drop a pair of shoes Tara wanted to borrow from me for a nightout, and it happened that I showed up about half an hour before the appointment, because I had to drive my sister to her friends’ just after. And I didn’t knock on the door. God knows that I never do – maybe I should get myself used to this new habit? Or should I not, because, had I knocked on Tara’s door, never would I have learnt about all the betrayals. I had her apartment’s spare key anyway, so whose fault that was? You should be more careful when you’re backstabbing someone, you know. Especially your best friend.

Tara didn’t even have a word to say when I entered the love scene. She was just too suprised I think, surprised that her game was over. I left as quickly as if I had entered a viral disease quarantine by accident and there had been no better thing to do than leaving as soon as possible – only the virus didn’t attack my heart, it actually stabbed my heart and broke it into painful pieces.

She tried to call me about a 100 times yesterday, and tried to drop by this morning, even a guy from the city’s flower shop called to ask if someone was home to sign a receipt for some stupid flowers from someone who left a message how sorry she was and that she never meant to and that friendship should get through obstacles and some other dumb stuff so long she must’ve paid a lot more to get them written (I asked him to tell me what the message said), but everything she does is just useless now. I can’t be bought by anything. It’s too late now.

I guess love is the worst thing in the world, because were there no love, I wouldn’t feel this way. Yes you can say I’m a drama queen, but the thing is, it really hurts me in all the horrible ways.

I :

1. am (was) Tara’s best friend, or at least I thought so.

2. have known her since the first day at junior high school, which would make it like 13 years.

3. lived with her 4 long and unforgettable college years in Brooklyn before we finished our studies and I got a job in Manhattan and had to quit the flat.

4. have been sharing her my affection for Tony ever since I got to know him.

5. introduced her to Tony so that I could have her opinions (which counted a lot for me) on him – now I’m screaming against the wall, God, why the hell did I???

She :

1. betrayed me.

2. betrayed me.

3. betrayed me.

4. betrayed me.

5. betrayed me.

The list could go on forever, but I’m not wasting my time to write it down!

To hell with Tony, I can’t even care less now. But Tara is – or was – my best friend and she should’ve been the one who understood that this would be the lowest thing one could do to his/her best friends for years. My disappointment’s come to a point where it even beats my anger towards her.

So, have you ever had any Tara’s in your life?

-Nicole, Pratt, NYC-

The story came from this very day. A supposedly feast day for the muslims, long holiday for the others, a good time for families to gather, also a time to bitch about people we hate in the family. Oh yeah, we loooooooove bitching around.

Auntie Lynn paid a visit to my mama, and off they went, gossiping bitching about Auntie Lynn’s daughter-in-law, the psychotic Ivana. That girl married Auntie Lynn’s son, Reynald, in a pompous ceremony last year, and six months after she gave birth to a baby boy named Elias.

Before she married Reynald, she was a lovely girl who would always smile all the time, who cared about everyone in the family (even the big extended family), who was considered smart and adorable, who quickly conquered everyone’s heart.

Now, that was BEFORE.

AFTER she married Reynald, she turns into this total psychotic bitch who bitches about everyone, every time, full of hatred, ignorant and stupid (proven in many circumstances already), and everyone thinks she needs an anger management therapy.

Bitchiness about Ivana Case 1

She took all Reynald’s savings and put all the money into her own saving accounts. Reynald is left under her mercy, while eventually he is the bird who brings worms everyday into their nest. Ivana doesn’t work, employs a nanny to take care of her baby, sits around watching lousy Indonesian so-called soap operas – the sinetrons, all day long in their 80 sqm flat somewhere in North Jakarta. Her baby never sleeps with her, in fact it’s the nanny who sleeps and takes care about the tiny boy. Lousy mother and a bitch.

Bitchiness about Ivana Case 2

She likes to brag about her designer handbags and jewelries. Problem is, her handbags are all fake and her blings are all borrowed from her mother-in-law (whom she fucking hates, by the way). She thinks we have no idea, but girlfriend, it is you who haven’t got any faintest idea about what we know. Effing liar and a bitch.

Bitchiness about Ivana Case 3

Before they moved to their own 20-year-mortgage leased flat, Ivana and Reynald lived at Reynald’s parents’. Auntie Lynn’s. But one day, Auntie Lynn popped up at the house without having called first, and you know what happened? Ivana slammed the door in front of her mother-in-law, without any purposes, screaming loudly so all the nosy neighbors had something to talk about the next day:

“The house is MINE, bitch!!”

WTF? The house, most of all things, is not hers.

Poor Auntie Lynn. She should’ve enforced a psychological test before her son married that crazy bitch.

The whore in question is called Non. Nonsense, and completely stupid I would say.

She had this Japanese sugar daddy for about four years, who gave her a lovechild (both her kids are bastards, mind you – her eldest daughter was conceived when she was 19, and she doesn’t even know where her father is now).

When the Japanese sugardaddy found out she had been whoring herself to younger men without future (well, the old man gave her money but not enough sex, the younger ones satisfied her indecent pleasures but not that much money) he dumped her from the apartment he rented and left her without further notice and without a penny left – it’s hard to maintain the luxury lifestyle when you’re already used to it and you’ve forgotten the scum life you once had.

She used to have a lot of money falling down from the sky, she had to do nothing, just enjoying her life everyday, but she had to fuck up that good entertained life and now, penniless, jobless, she had to come back into the bordel life she had forgotten so long: she now tries to make ends meet by accompanying Japanese, Chinese and Korean men to go karaoke, and singing isn’t only the job description necessary to please these Oriental sex-crazed bosses. Jugun Ianfu era hasn’t ended yet. Only now they get paid for that, but for a very low fee, and when they’re tired or ill, nobody cares. Plus-plus karaokes don’t pay for their girls’ health insurance.

I hadn’t met Non for like, months! She called me about a week ago, asking if I had any job opportunities for her.

I don’t run a bordel, remember? I wanted to say, but instead I politely told her I couldn’t help, and then she asked me news about some mutual friends.

Then, having heard that one of our mutual girl friends has now landed a rich old daddy for herself, Non, our heroine, told me bitterly, “Yeah, the easiest way to get money is to spread your legs. What a whore,” she said.

Now, I told myself, that’s new, a whore who cries “WHORE”?

Stupid bitch.

I thought she was more intelligent and worthier than that.

Well, maybe my innocence hasn’t really worn out despite having seen so much of these moneygrubbing whores… Let me tell you the story about Ferlani.

Ferlani is 5ft 3 inch tall, a skin as dark as night, curly hair dyed in total blonde, pouty blowjobby lips, not a beauty by Indonesian standard, as she has this look of real Javanese peasant (or, most Indonesians gladly say it out loud, “Muke pembantu” – hope that helps!), meaning, far from the Indonesian standard of beauty as in light skin, fair black hair, beautiful face, and slender body.

Nevertheless, opposite attracts. What we consider not a beauty is considered by others as divine. There came the cliché that most bule males prefer women that most Indonesians wouldn’t even look twice.

Ferlani has seen a lot of Caucasian suitors admiring her, and since in the green archipelago, sadly, most Caucasians equal green bucks equal money, she is ready to give everything to have a bule husband.

I got to know Ferlani for quite a long time already before I realized she was as golddigging as the others I mention in my stories.

So, the story is, she found this strange goody-two-shoes man from the land of chocolate, Switzerland. The man is 46, unmarried, still living with his mama, and from what he said, extremely rich. They met online on some bizarre dating site and soon after, started cybersexing online.

Not long after, the old bachelor has become so smitten of Lani that he already plans to come over to Jakarta by the end of the year, just to meet his Venus. And before they even met, he already pours and pours Swiss francs into her bank account.

“Well, but I’m not at all in love with him,” said Lani, giggling hysterically, a brand new Rp 5-million digicam in one hand, the other squeezing a long tulipe champagne glass.

“And you accept the money anyway?” I asked in a casual way.

“But of course! He has to pay to see me naked, I ain’t exposing my titties online without him paying anything. Even whores on any sex cam sites got paid for that!” She sloshed down her champagne. “Delicious. I’ve always loved expensive boozes,” she caressed her brand-new golden ring smoothly.

OH YEAH, I said to myself. You love money, don’t you. I’m sure you do.

But what about:

1. Him being completely and utterly strange. Imagine, 46-year-old, that desperate to get laid, ready to pour money to any third-world-country girl just to see some random naked body? Oh please. And that would make all East European tarts from Prague lose their jobs.

2. There must be a hidden agenda. He must be either psycho, impotent, or simply a freak. Come on, the same trick has been employed everywhere. Remember the story about Armin Meiwes the German sicko.

3. Him coming here and realizes you’re not that good and he wants a refund?

Well, that’s the problem about digging money the online way: you’ll always have an unpleasant surprise.

Name: Yenny.

Age: 22.

Status: Second wife.

Previously worked as: Secretary.

Life: Complicated.

Love: Complicated.

Finance: Excellent, never been better.

Sex life: Sucks, but he’s my husband, so…

Marked: Homewrecker.

Fears: That ugly first wife of his coming here to shout at me again, and the old fat bastard husband of mine leaving me before I get a decent house and a big bank account.

And she said she never gave that a thought before being a second wife and entered the polygamous life she had never wished of??

Bitch.

So, she calls herself a model, but she retired to pursue more established career and life.

She has supposedly modeled for Roberto Cavalli, Armani, Gucci and Donna Karan in her New York days, was supposedly friends with all Indonesian fashion icons and upscale socialites before she left Jakarta, always says she didn’t really give a damn about fashion, though, she had only done it for living.

When I first met her a couple years ago, I thought she was cool, despite all these strange things I had been noticing about her. I simply closed my eyes and pretended it was the part of being her. She must’ve had her own ways somehow.

But about a year ago, I found out that she was simply insane.

How would you like to know more about her???

Okay, let’s just save our time to blab the crap.

There is this pleasure palace downtown, somewhere in Kota. It has a huge disco, dozens of karaoke private-rooms, spa and massage service, and hundreds of hotel-rooms.

Men come here seeking pleasures they can’t find anywhere else. Correction, men come here seeking pleasures they can’t find anywhere else for less price. It’s such a bargain!

If you intend to fuck, just come upstairs and say hello to the bookers (Don’t say pimp, they get easily offended). Or the “Lady Escort Mummies”, as they call it. She’ll bring you a selection of girls, and you can pick your own bitch.

Somewhere in 2006, we met and “sort of” befriended Dodgy (the name goes him well), this jobless-and-hopeless guy. He told us he was seeing a hooker in there, who was madly in love with him.

Out of curiosity, we asked him to introduce us to Rina, the girl.

When she met us, I guessed she was 20, at least. She told us she was 18. Dodgy told us proudly she was 16.

“She is whaaaat????” I screamed against the drumming, deafening bass in the disco.

“Sixteen years old!” He smiled happily. “Fresh meat!”

Jesus, 16? “And how long has she been working here??”

“Six months. But she has been a lady escort since about two years ago.” Dodgy laughs. “Very, very fresh meat by then!”

So, after a short interview, we knew the girl’s history.

Her name wasn’t Rina but Rinah. She cut the H the day she entered “Lady Escort” business. To book her, you would have to pay her “mummy” a modest sum of Rp 300,000 if you want to fuck her inside the house. If you take her out, then it’s Rp 1 million.

She only gets 20% of any booking deals.

She said she was trapped in the business, and couldn’t do anything but this to save her family from hunger. She told us she wanted a change six months ago and was promised to be a waitress in a restaurant in Jakarta by an old family acquaintance, but it turned out the job was fake. She was lured into working here, at first they bought loads of new sexy (slutty) clothes and make ups for her, they said it was for free.

Well, she found out that there was no such thing as free clothes and free make ups. All of these expenses have been added into her “Debts” as they call it, and before she could leave and be free again, she had to pay off these debts, with her body.

In the meantime she was living in a dorm, ten women per room brothel dorm near the palace. She had to fuck old, ugly men everyday, so when a young lad presented himself in the name of love, she could do nothing but falling in love.

The worst thing was that Dodgy didn’t even love her. He used her for free fucks and free entries to the palace, which did nothing but adding every expense to her debts. She was miserable. But she was willing to do anything in exchange of a little more love, even though it wasn’t real. She wanted to be loved. And she succumbed into a hole deeper than ever.

And when do you think she could eventually escape from such a place? Hell on earth. I don’t know if she still continues with Dodgy or not, but I don’t think she ever will get out, really.

This isn’t an entry to bitch about, actually. This is actually sad. Even though I agree that she could’ve chosen a more honorable way to earn her life, she is still human, afterall.

Sometimes, some sluts can also be just girls who are as hopelessly romantic as we are…

Yantie states that she’s a student on her profile, at one of the world’s most famous social networking websites.

She’s barely 21 and already collecting a long list of lovers.

She loves sugardaddies, and always has at least one of them supporting her rich lifestyle.

Look at her. The latest Prada handbag, matching heels, expensive jewelries, an iPod she has only for self-promotional purposes, a glam 10-inch, pink suede-covered Vaio, limited edition she carries everywhere, and a Blackberry she uses to take notes of her rendez-vous with the clients.

When you look at her, you might think, either she’s a young businesswoman or she’s a rich girl. Dressed up head-to-toe with nothing but luxury products.

But she lives in a poor rented room somewhere in Jakarta’s Kota, the Chinese downtown where meat market does sell a lot. She lives in a pigsty that cries anything but glam. That smells anything but luxury. That shows just about everything she actually is.

She says she gets the money from her parents, but she never really tries to conceal her double identity, oh come on! She went telling us her father was gone and her mother was a housewife.

How did I meet her?

Well, one day I accompanied Lily, a friend I met at my yoga class to meet Yantie. Lily asked me to accompany her doing a verbal attack on The Bitch, because she recently spotted that she was hitting on her husband.

Okay, Lily’s husband isn’t that perfect angel either. He goes out often to that dimly lit Top Gun Bar at Blok M, Jakarta’s nastiest whore-fishing pond, where he knew Yantie. So she knew he was married and only interested in playing little, harmless games, but he got his nose in too deep and before he even realized, he was already paying everything for her.

Lily was upset upon finding this, I think she couldn’t care less about her husband’s behavior but she didn’t accept the fact he had been spending rather big money for Yantie, so she asked me to come along with her and support her while she was having a go at Yantie.

So I went tracking that girl with her, and when we found out where she lived, Lily couldn’t be more angry.

“Okay, I let your husband go, with one condition, you find me someone else to replace him,” Yantie threw her bargain. “In any way, if you don’t find me a new guy to pay for everything, I can’t let Bill go. I don’t care being a homewrecker, I want a good life.”

So, Lily ended up almost killing her. We had the police coming in, called by the neighbors astounded to hear women shrieking inside the room, and Lily had to do the explaining and all. She almost got into a trouble. And Yantie still got away with it, now probably sleeping peacefully in another rented room, all expenses paid by someone – who knows if Bill still even sees her secretly? My friend is getting a divorce.

God, some sluts just don’t have a heart.

Oh gosh.

How do I tell her this straight without fucking hurt her?

“No, I don’t have any problems with you being such a moneygrubbing whore… Afterall, everyone deserves to daydream even a little, of a blissful and happy life doing nothing everyday and being filthy rich just by spreading your legs everyday at the same time and serve the man you married for his money and a EU PR status. Yeah, I really don’t see any problems in you doing that. Go on, my dear, you have my blessings.”

Geez, that just sounds bloody cruel, don’t you think? But why do you want of my approval for what you’re going to do? You’re just going to ignore what I say anyway, if I tell you what I think of you, honestly. You’re somewhat a friend and I used to think you were smarter than that, but you end up sinking into the same level as those sad arses we used to bitch about and gossip together over a coffee at Starbucks.

Okay, before you think I’m crazy, let me tell you a story:

The story is about a girl who wants an easy life. She comes from a fairly unwealthy family, with three sisters, two elder and a younger one. The eldest sister is married to a state-clerc, they still live in the 60 sqm family house with their four sons. The second sister is married to an ojek-guy next door and they live there with his family, along with their two toddlers. While the first sister lives with her husband’s Rp-2-million-per-month salary, and the only luxuries she can afford come from Mayestik or Tanah Abang slum markets, the second sister can barely meet both ends: her husband being a stereotypically lazy Betawi boy, she has to work part time as a maid and earns as much as Rp 600,000 per month.

Now, how do you think people can live with Rp 2 million or even Rp 600,000 per month? The weak Rupiah rate gives nearly Rp 9,500 for one US dollar buck, Rp 2 million is worth a little bit over US$ 200. And Rp 600,000? Do the math yourself. But this is Indonesia. We can buy a gallon of Aqua (that’s how they call ANY bottled drink water here) only with Rp 3,000 – so imagine how cheap life must be. Well, if you happen to be one of the miserable ones living under poverty line here, even Rp 3,000 can buy you food for a day, but it’s not much fun either living with Rp 20,000 per day when you have two little kids and a lazy, demanding husband. But let’s save it for another story.

Point is, this girl I know, let’s call her Linda, doesn’t want the same life. She had the luck to finish her highschool and half-worked to earn her degree, then she landed a fairly good job, earning Rp 1.5 million of monthly salary, working in an insurance company.

Then I met her and we became sort of friends. I thought she was smart and has a high appreciation of herself, but time has proven that I was totally wrong.

About two years ago, Linda first told me about her love affair with a German guy.

“He’s the love of my life,” she said. “I love him so much I can’t stop thinking about him. I lost my virginity to him.”

Then I got to meet the man she so dearly adored, and I gasped in shock.

He was 54!!!!!!

Okay, I know 54 isn’t that old. But if the man were to adopt you. Not fucking you. Linda was 23 and the man had even lived 31 full, blossoming adult years before Linda was born. He was married twice before she popped up to this world.

Okay, I might be wrong, I told myself. This could be love.

But then, Linda found out the man never really left his current wife (48-year-old, German, and to my opinion suited him better than Linda did, in any way). So they basically broke up, it ended with her being thrown out of the flat he paid the rent for because he stopped paying for it. He didn’t even live in Jakarta, he lived in Germany and came twice a year to fuck her.

Then she met another man online. Also German, his name was Jensi or something like that. He was 42. Totally redhead and not very pleasant. He sent some money every month to her, and came once, a week, to fuck her. She said she was happy with him. Okay, I think, this might still be love.

But then, a month after he’s done fucking her, he just stopped contacting her in any way. So that ended abruptly, just like that. The only thing she regretted was the 60 Euros he used to send every month through Paypal (yes, this had been a bargain, just like stuff you’d buy on eBay).

Oh, so she took it herself that she was worth no more than 60 Euros, I started to think. Even his monthly insurance must be at least five times more expensive.

Then, she landed an Australian guy, with whom she lasted two weeks, the time he stayed in Jakarta. He was 44. He gave her AU$ 500 for make ups and things, a mere sum of Rp 3.5 million, come to think of that. That was pretty cheap for two weeks full of hot, steamy sex. Linda said she wasn’t even in love with him. So, she did it for money, I resumed.

After the Australian guy was gone, this time she was interested with a man already engaged to be married. To be honest, the man was sort of an asshole as well, big time liar who loves to boast around and lie about everything in his life. To make short, this guy was fucking around with like, 5 girls at the same time, got two of them knocked up, and was initially forced to marry one of the preggers.

Linda had to complicate things up, meeting him right about two weeks before he had to tie the knot, and so being the sixth chick he messed around with, plus, that without any protections whatsoever. She was so afraid to get pregnant, she said, but I was kind of sure she kind of hoped she got the seed planted, to bully him into paying expensive.

The strange thing is, that man wasn’t even attractive. He was 40. He called it quits about 3 days before he married another woman, and still had the opportunity to once again fuck Linda.

Then, merely a week after the tearful breakup, Linda already hooked up with an Englishman named Roger. She met Roger on a party, and he was on his Asia trip. She had her hopes too high, wanting to get married soon and move to Britain forever. Turned out he was married, as well, and the Asia trip was actually an Asia brothel trip – in every country he stayed in, he had a personal slut (or should we call it honorably “Lady Escort”) reserved to hold him company.

And now, Linda landed Michael, whom she met on internet, and is coming to Jakarta soon after a so-called business trip to Australia. Plans are they would get married in Bali and he’d bring her to live in Vienna. Problem is, Michael is 48 and has two grownup kids of 27 and 25, both of them girls and living with him, and already refused to grant their consentment to their father’s future second marriage, merely ten months after their mother passed away.

But Michael’s got this huge house in Vienna, seven cars (“Two of them being BMWs and three of them Mercedeses and one 2005-Beetle and one new Mini Cooper!”) and loads of money. And Linda, having never seen Michael in real life, albeit having cybersexed with him, has declared herself truly, madly, deeply in love with him.

“Money is enough to buy love,” she said happily. “I asked him to buy me a Cartier engagement ring with a diamond as huge as he can afford, and who cares if it doesn’t work out between us after? I’ll get an EU PR and after the divorce I can go back to the market to have a better, closer look,” she grinned. “I can always find another younger stud to fuck me behind his back whenever he’s not looking, if it turns out that he’s not good anymore in bed because of his age. That’ll be such a hot option! What do you think? You don’t mind me doing that, do you?” I smiled weakly back, not really knowing what to say.

Now you know how I end up writing this entry.

Well then, I might bitch about her on this blog, but of course, but what I did, at least, as a supposedly supportive friend, was to say, “Go on, you might end up loving him for real.”

Thank God we have a blog.

Bitching Babe is an Indonesian of multicultural heritage.

Currently lives in Jakarta.

Has met so many girls here who are just so pathetic and desperate, and keep doing irrational things for the sake of superficial things.

Calls some of these girls “friend”, call the others “acquaintance”, and some others plainly just “bitch”.

This blog is created to commemorate the years of meeting and listening to these stories in real life. Something we need to get out to refresh the space in our minds, and just because we sometimes DO like to bitch about some people, don’t we?

Feel free to comment, but remember, these are stories we’d love to bitch together about, so if you feel like you’re one of the bitches, live with it, we’ll continue writing anyway, because we know, deep down you know it’s true!

With love,

The Bitching Babe

PS: Yes please, Bitching Babe wants to hear your own bitching stories. Just email her!