I want to salute those women refusing to sit on the side lines for a mans approval and I thank those men who appreciate those women that don’t.
I am not afraid of being called a bitch. (Woah. Right? Bear with me and let me explain) As long as it is under a CERTAIN context. During certain scenarios or situations, call me a bitch and it may bother me to a minuscule degree (BTW I am so over girls calling other girls bitches as a term of endearment. It’s not cute. For two reasons:
- There is no respect given anywhere in calling your bestie a bitch
- It gives men just another excuse to call women bitches ‘hey *grunts* if this bitch’s friends can call her a bitch it must be okay if I call this bitch a bitch right?,
but confuse me taking initiative as displaying a “bitchy side” than I couldn’t care less. Why? Because to care over this title is to find and accept fault in my initiative. I will never apologize, as a woman, for putting myself out there and being a leader. I wish I always felt this way, but unfortunately I didn’t. More on this later.
You should know “bitch” in this context is a more severe and more adult version of a parallel title “Bossy”. I have been called bossy all my life. Growing up, that was never a fun thing to be labeled and would often lead to me hiding in my own anti-social bubble. I would often retreat to my own quietness and it would eventually lead me to being a major pushover. I was almost the equivalent to Ally Sheedy’s character in the Breakfast Club. I said ALMOST. I definitely didn’t have that much dandruff and I would NEVER use it in a snow-scape; and let’s be real…that sandwich looked puke-worthy (okay, I would totally try that sandwich. Shhh. Don’t tell anybody) I would agree to whatever anyone said to avoid such a word. A simple and stupid word. All because I didn’t want to be deemed bossy or a bitch. You have to remember this was before Paris Hilton romanticized the word bitch. (I feel like I am reaching my limit for that word. Who cares?) It wasn’t acceptable to be one, you definitely didn’t call your besties that, and tiny dogs weren’t used as an accessory. *Stay on track Bessie* Where was I? It bothered me. Until I found a connection between the bossy and the bosser. What? Between me being called bossy and the dicks ones throwing that stone. A penis. What x2? This brings me to a very important lesson to teach you guys. A sort of revelation I had. If a man leads the way, he is taking initiative and showing the potential for being an all mighty leader. If a woman does? Well, she’s just a big ol’ bitch. Now, who could possibly think this backwards and ignorant way? Refer back to that connection previously mentioned. I don’t want you guys to think I believe EVERY guy thinks this. DUH. But I have witnessed this pattern so much in my life that I can declare there is a connection. Double duh. I call this the Mad Men complex for two reasons: 1. Because either they have seen too many episodes of Mad Men and/or 2: They have had a major traumatic injury to the noggin where they actually believe they are Donald Draper in the 1960’s working at an AD firm, and the men are the kings of the office while the women get them their coffee *takes deep breath*. I don’t know which is worse. I vote for the first option since the second involves a probably deserved major head injury which btw you can’t prove I did, and I have an alibi. All jokes aside, a major reason behind such ignorant thinking is some men are still uncomfortable with the idea of a woman being more superior or leading the way. It can unfortunately turn the nicest guys into acting like jerks. It is such a disappointment to see an act of leadership among women flipping that switch among men. It always makes me want to ask such men “You have had your ‘moment’ for decades. You have lead the way with women by your side. Why is it such a problem the roles were reversed?”. With years of being the support system when is it our turn to ask for the support?
This brings me back to a problem I mentioned earlier. To me being apologetic to those uncomfortable men. I know. Shocking! Right? Who is this? You are witnessing the more insecure me. Back when I didn’t understand the importance of the issue. I gave in. Remember I was Ally Sheedy nestled in the back of the library NOT SHAKING DANDRUFF OFF OF MY HEAD and not (maybe) eating that sandwich. I remember times in high school when we would be given group projects in class. I was always the odd one out in my group. Meaning I had BREASTS. I don’t know if the teachers were trying to torture me, give me material for a future blog I might have (hello!)
, or making me the sacrificial lamb; but I was an Ally Sheedy placed in a group of Donald Drapers. Well, prepubescent Donald Drapers. Not even Drapers. I am tempted to say Trump but I have a heart and I’m not built for hell. (Is anyone?) We would sit there in an awkward silence just minutes before our work was supposed to be done. Eventually, I had no choice but to be the one who spoke up first. And oh the blasphemy! If only you could see the looks on these Donald Douches. These pimple-faced (not sorry), tight-shirt wearing (eye-roll. There is nothing there), tiny boys. They were down-right uncomfortable. They were so shocked that I had spoken up first I don’t even think they believed it. So I would be ignored. Finally, I would repeat myself and they would have this disgusted realization “Oh, so the one with the breasts DID speak first. Gross”. Unfortunately, I would believe their disgust, and I would try many tricks to avoid it. This pretty much applied to any situation where I knew there was a chance I would be given the reigns and a boy was in attendance:
- The question-nator- this goes by another name. I like to refer to it as the scardy cat trick. This is when you are given the leader role but instead of being just that and making suggestions you ask questions excessively in the most spineless way. Exhibit A: “For this assignment we have to come up with different duties.What do you think about this idea? How about we do this? Is that okay with you? I know I have been assigned to do this part of the project already but is it alright with you guys? Also if its alright with you guys I’m gonna breathe WHILE I am doing it…is that okay?” This would only work for a short period of time before boys were bothered that IIIII was asking the questions for them to answer to take control; and I wanted to kill myself. .
- The Every Man For Himself- This one is pretty self explanatory.We would discuss the outline, I would announce what I would was going to do (lets be real…ask them) which usually involved me picking the hardest task out of guilt of being chosen to lead the Donalds, and those bitches were on their own. Exhibit B: “Here is everything we have to do. I’m gonna do this. Is that alright? #byefelicia *cut to CHAOS*.
This never worked. OBVIOUSLY. Our assignment was a mess, I would end up annoyed (I know, when am I not?), and the Donalds would still find fault in my initiative THAT WASN’T EVEN THERE. How dare I make the suggestion to not make the decisions! Tie me to the post in the middle of cafeteria, light the torches, and burn this bitch down!!
It was at that point that I had had enough. I had finally realized that they were never going to be satisfied, and it wasn’t my job to satisfy them (this sentence can go in so many different directions and could be used in so many different ways). I needed to stop limiting myself as a result of other people’s insecurities. Me being a leader wasn’t the problem, but it was the others perception of it that was. If they want to call me a bitch, so be it. Call me one. (AGAIN, only under this context. Friends, it’s not cute.) You want to call me “bossy”? Well, Donald Douches: I’m not bossy, I’m the boss.
We Need to Talk 