Bitch / Whore / Angel / Princess: Part I

by Julie Robinson

  Some days all I want to do is feel sorry for myself.  It feels spot on being a complete sour puss and luckily for me it doesn’t happen so often that my friends do continue to feign interest OR empathy OR remind me that life isn’t so bad—I can just take a shower, pop a few pills and get rid of most of this bitchy feeling that’s dragging me down.  Other days, life is sunny, the rainbow leads me to that big ol’ pot of gold, and I even fuck a leprechaun just because I can. (Yes, it’s true I do have a mild case of bipolar disease.)

So, in the tradition of all of the ups and downs we all feel for no apparent reason besides the synopses in our brains aren’t firing quite right—here’s a little What? Not! chock full of roller coaster peaks, valleys, and wrenching curves we prove we can handle by throwing our arms in the air as we scream our bloody heads off.

Today the What? Not! post is going to focus on my bitchy-whore side.  Here I explore a couple of cases where I show some of my vivid colors in terms of a lost friendship and sexual experimentation.  Next week I will share my other side when I talk about being an absolute angel / princess. As you might expect, one side comes more naturally than the other. . . . Enjoy! 

Bitch

Being the first born child, having a type-A personality, and being someone with a PhD—one of the most difficult things I come across in my day-to-day life is admitting I may be just a wee bit wrong.  Striving for perfection is a hobby of mine.  It’s not uncommon for me to be completely shitfaced and still tell the cab driver which way to get from point A to point B in order to avoid stop lights that aren’t synchronized properly.  Getting off on being right is, of course, not always popular.  As my mother always said: Would you rather be right and be alone . . . or . . .?

Looking back on 2011 I find one case in particular where I was completely wrong and now that friend and I are no longer speaking. I have no one to blame except myself (although I can think up a shitload of excuses that do place the blame somewhere else) and I’m not really sure how to tell this woman I’m sorry that I was such a bitch and would like to have her back in my life.

Why would she want me back seeing that I was really, really mean and even unfriended her on Facebook?

What can I say to let her know I’m new-and-improved and feel terrible for my behavior?

Who would want a friend like me?

As is true with most situations involving hurt feelings, baby steps work better than leaping off of cliffs.  I think I will start by sending her a short message saying that I hope she’s doing well and that I think about her from time to time.  Instead of asking her to be friends again I will simply be a nice person and reach out to her.  From that point I can see how she responds—if at all—and take it from there. 

As we get older we don’t necessarily become wiser OR nicer OR kinder OR gentler but it is true that it becomes a hell of a lot harder to find really good friends.  I have very fond memories of times with this woman in particular and hope that if I reign in my bitch-self and sincerely apologize we can have a future.     

Whore

Science courses have tripped me up since I was young.  I’ve just never been a good student when it came to frog innards.  Despite these challenges, I’m embarking on a science experiment of sorts with good old Devin.  Yep.  He’s baaa-aaack! 

Devin is that sweet devil who wants a bad girl who isn’t nearly as bad as I like to get.  Boy is he in for a treat.  The scheme I’ve cooked up for Devin is to see if we can become lovers again on MY terms.  Instead of getting all worked up over Devin’s shortcomings (he has a tendency to flake out on me and I have a tendency to text him to fuck off) my little experiment is to see if I can enjoy him AND his cock AND our shared fantasies without becoming so wrapped up in it that we both start behaving badly.  It’s like the song:  Don’t expect too much from me / You might not be let down.

So far Devin and I are planning on meeting this evening to see if we continue to have sexual chemistry.  When we did it was hot, so I’m excitedly skeptical while also horny as hell.  It could be fun.  It may also explode in my face with glass test tubes shattering all over the place and billows of black smoke rising to the air—but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.