Stamped: May 3rd, 2007 | Toggle Similar
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I've never been one of those women who proudly proclaims her god-given right to be a bitch. I've never bought underwear with the word "bitch" embroidered on the ass and I've certainly never accepted the word as a token of flattery. Unless I'm being pummeled from behind by my husband, and we've been swept up in the smutty river of sex speak, he better not even think of calling me a bitch. Oh and that fucking annoying "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover…" song by Meredith Brooks, always hated it.
In the land of the blogs my inner bitch can make her way effortlessly through typed diatribe, but in the land of actual beings I tend to be more thoughtful and respectful. Um, except during those moments when I've blunderingly misused trust and unleashed jaw-dropping brutal honesty.

I once told my ex-husband that he had the smallest dick I'd ever seen. I didn't say it in an act of deserving vengeance because he'd slept with my best friend or raped my dog. It wasn't a retaliatory stab because we'd been fighting. We were merely having a conversation one night about sex (and all that it includes) and out it came. It took several seconds for the alarms to go off in my head alerting me to the fact that I'd just been a complete dumb-fuck. In that moment I'd harnessed one of the many aspects of being an impeccable bitch: undeserving & thoughtless belittlement. I felt enormous remorse, of course, but nothing short of spontaneously speaking Swahili (thereby affirming that I'd succumbed to some sort of temporary demonic possession), could have undone what I'd done. It was an unprovoked moment of brutal honesty and by far the worst of my bitch moments.

The last husband rarely did much to provoke bitchiness. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about the current Mr. JB. Yah, I love the big lug something fierce, but over the past eight years I have done things and said things to him that I have never done or said to another human being. Or four-legged animal for that matter. He's a confessed button-pusher. He's the Truman of emotional A-bombs. When he finds just the right thing to set me off he does so with utmost precision. I honestly didn't know the depths to which I could sink when pushed to unadulterated rage. But even then, even when he deserves every last ounce of vile filth I can spew, I feel like shit. Nine times out of ten I apologize for whatever I said or did that was beyond the realm of calm. Of course I'm also sure to recount the facts that it was he pushed me to being a bitch and how it's all his fault because if he would just learn to communicate better..blah, blah, blah. Naturally.

I've made plenty of verbal bitch-induced blunders and will likely make a few more. But over the years I've come to a more centered place of calm. Rather than feeling a sense of empowerment or control when I step into the bitch shoes (even if rightfully worn), I feel dirty–as if I've been tainted by something other than my genuine self. Ironically, I've also become more proactive in standing up for myself and saying what's on my mind using tact rather than a ruthless tongue. That's not to say that I'm not still a feisty little spitfire when provoked. It just means that I no longer kill egos at whim. Or throw external hard drives across the room.

Last 5 posts by JB

• Happy Anniversary - June 21st, 2007
• decision 2007: dildo fantasies vs. honesty - June 14th, 2007
• Intermission - June 7th, 2007
• Yoni, up close and personal - May 31st, 2007
• My friend Karma - May 24th, 2007