What is a bitch?
While there are many different meanings to the word, I can’t decide which of the definitions is my favourite.
Is it the one where being a bitch means that you’re too afraid to do something? Is it the one where you are someone’s bitch, and therefore a weird version of property? Is it the one that people call you when you are powerful, independent, and amazing? Or is it the one that a person is called when they’re just being a straight up bitch.
With a word as diversely used as this, I have a hard time deciding.
Over the next few months, I’m going to explore all of these various meanings through the means of story telling, thought bubbles, and discussion (contingent on the fact that I figure out how to actually use my own website,) and together we’ll figure it out.
Throughout my life, there have been three words that have been used to describe me.
The first was funny.
According to the people around me, I have always had a way of taking a situation and making it hilarious. In my opinion, I’m no funnier than I am bitchy, but hey, we’ll get to that later. If people want to disguise my constant bitching and sarcastic comments as funny, who am I to stop them? Apparently, people find bitchy funny.
The second was bossy.
I have a lot of memories from when I was a little kid where adults, other kids, and strangers would tell me that I was bossy. To me, I never felt like I was being overly bossy, but instead chose to take the lead on things that other kids wouldn’t, and then tell them the best way for them to contribute to the activity. These activities included jump rope, grounders, and soccer. Okay, fine. I was bossy.
Later in life, the word bossy shifted to the word bitch, which is number three on the list.
For years I’ve been considered a bitch by almost everyone I know, of course, certain people used different definitions than others, but I don’t think that I’ve ever met a person who hasn’t called me a bitch.
Even my 10-year old niece called me a bitch a few months ago, I think at this point it’s just common knowledge.
In fact, in the last year on Twitter alone, I have been called a bitch 543 times. 300+ of those may have been me, but nonetheless, the info is out there.
At first, being considered a bitch really bugged me. You see the early years of teenagehood were hard enough with boys, hormones, friends, etc. I didn’t also need everyone thinking that I was a “bad person,” that I was a bitch. Because back then being anything but “chill” made you a bitch, which made people think you were a bad person. Oh, middle school and her charms.
But as I got older, I started to embrace the fact that I was, indeed, a bitch. I found that most commonly I was called a bitch either a) when I was being straight up and honest with a person about what I thought, b) when I wasn’t letting a male think he was better than me, or c) when I was making decisions for me, and not caring about what anyone else thought.
I will admit that there were also times that I was just being a bitch to be a bitch. Do I regret it? Sometimes, but we won’t talk about that just yet.
All things considered, being called a bitch for these reasons never really bugged me. Around the age of 16, I realized a lot of the dispositions that come along with being a woman. If you are powerful, independent, and don’t allow people (especially men) to walk all over you, society sees you as a bitch.
Take Sandra Bullock in “The Proposal” for example. Her character gets things done, is a badass boss in a badass job, and doesn’t allow people to take advantage of her. What a bitch. At least that’s how all the other characters in the movie saw her, especially her love interest played by Ryan Reynolds. It wasn’t until she was able to let loose, slack on her work, and allow her male counterpart to be shining star that she was removed of her bitch title and labeled a cool chick.
Well, fuck that. Strong, independent bitches are my exact definition of cool chicks.
Keep on bitching on.
So why am I doing this?
For quite a while I’ve been considering my memoirs. You see I’ve always planned to be famous enough to be able to write memoirs, but have recently come to the conclusion that I am not yet that famous but still really want to write them. So I am.
Yes, you read that right, this blog is what I’m considering to be my memoirs.
According to a friend whose name I have changed for legal reasons, we’ll call her Deborah, I should expect to die around the age of 34. She thinks that my future career (foreign correspondent,) my sense of adventure, and willingness to do totally idiotic things will one day get me killed.
I have to agree with this, Deborah makes some really good points. So I feel like writing my memoirs at 21 after I’ve lived almost a third of my life, is a perfect time.
I’ve lived long enough to be able to know enough about the world, but not too much, and to be bitter about almost everything.
So let’s see where this journey takes us.
See you next week, bitches.