
Exemplary Heartless Bitches
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Donna
I'm a Heartless Bitch because I am. I always have been. I've never thought about why so much as I have thought about why anyone would consider it an insult. I appreciate honesty but that doesn't mean I'm saying fuck diplomacy either. I don't want false praise because that's about as veiled as a freshly Windexed pane of glass. I also don't want you to tell me I look like shit today. Chances are pretty good I already know that. If I ask you how I look, tell me the truth but tell me in a way you'd appreciate being told; that is unless you're an insipid, brain-dead humanoid. Don't give me sympathy unless you want sympathy-pie all over your face. I'm intelligent enough to know that sympathy is not the same thing as understanding or care. Sympathy is an implication that I'm an airhead who can't find a way to pull myself out of a paperbag. It's true that I'm an angry woman but that in and of itself is not what makes me a bitch. I'm unwilling to put up with time-wasting crap anymore. If you want to play games, go to Toys-R-Us. I love to rant. I'm an aggressive person but no, that doesn't mean I want to be a man. I love being a woman. I love my vagina. I even love hormonal changes during various times of the month because it allows me to go with the flow and scream my lungs out. Screaming feels really, really fucking good. I will not apologize for righteous indignation as long as it's honest and on target. I will not teach my daughter to be demure and lady-like in all that she does. Lady-like behavior often gets you in someone's kitchen serving up cubed steak and Budweiser. Please (the please is because I do recognize the importance of being polite) do not expect me retreat to the sidelines when the good old boys at Monday's staff meeting tackle the real issues. Don't ask for my opinion if you already know what it is, and you already know you won't like it.
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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