Who, me?
Heard the other day…I’d like to believe it wasn’t directed towards me but then again, perhaps I deserve it.
“Oh yeah, by the way. You’re a total bitch.”
On Bitchiness:
I’m assertive on a general occasion. But I’d like to believe I’m not bitchy without reason. It takes a bit to get on my bad side. I’m a taurus you know. Stoic for the most part. And I’d rather attack a bucket of fried chicken than a person. But sometimes the nice doesn’t work. Sometimes the being polite and reasonable doesn’t work. Sometimes an attempt at support and feedback gets retaliated upon. I’ve seen this happen before. I’ve been on both sides of the situation. Usually though, I’m (the catholic side of me of perpetual blame & guilt) the one who concedes and apologizes first. The olive tree may as well be planted in my blackheads for the frequency that any sense of contrition or reconciliation pops forward from my countenance. Or so I believe of myself. I’ve been known to vent with arms flailing with smoke and cigarette ash scattering over the unlucky audience of my rant.
On things like *acapella* and *republicans* and *worst date ever(s)*(TM) and *bad hotel situations with pubic hairs showing up on my hotel bathroom soaps* and poor tattoo selections and overpriced and unimpressive food/foodservice and PMS and the guilt trip of the month from parents/family/jesuit priests who have yet to give up on my soul/ and being scolded re: the violation of policies that I wasn’t even told about, about being blamed for everything, asswipes who cut me off in traffic–forcing me to chuck a tampon soaked in spilled coffee at thier windshield. (Of note, seriously, when you’re driving and you spill something, this works astoundingly well. I mean it.)
Maybe I *am* a bitch.
I suppose it would explain a lot.
3 Comments