Eumenide
I'm a bitch because I get annoyed with dickweed lunkheads who, when informed that I am going to medical school, say, "Oh, you're going to be a nurse?" No, fuckface, nurses go to NURSING SCHOOL (and funny how my male colleagues never get asked those questions). Then, when the concept of an "M.D." is explained to them, they emit a Keanu-Reeves-like "Whoa," and stare at me as if a female doctor were a creature from Mars.
I'm a bitch because I work out for MY health and MY enjoyment (it's an endorphin thing that the Cro-Magnons wouldn't understand), not for YOUR viewing pleasure. Yes, I want my body to be loved and admired and enjoyed, but only by those whom *I* invite to do so.
I am a bitch because I will NOT date you if you need to be rescued. If you want to come to me as a friend and ask for advice, that's fine. As a physician, I will be rescuing people all day. That is my WORK. I don't need it to be my home life with you.
I'm a bitch because I want my partner to have as large of a vocabulary as I do (exception: ESL people). And, note to all guys: respect for a woman is NOT mumbling, "oh, you're smarter than me [sic], anyway". That may be the case, but, dinglebrain, if I'm on a date with you, that means I found you somehow INTERESTING and would like to know what you think (assuming you do). The quickest way to revert to "dull" is through weak-brained self-effacement. *sheesh*
Most of all, I'm a bitch because I can't stomach people of either gender who continually posture as victims (usually a sea-squirt-like posture-- spineless, amorphous, and always filled with the same bilgewater shit). A typical example would be an Uberprincess I once roomed with in college, who came in the door all atwitter because an Evil Man had removed her dry clothing (which contained-- horrors-- HER UNDERWEAR) from the public dryer and replaced it with his. "He saw my underwear!" she wailed, "I feel so VIOLATED!!!" Briefly dumbstruck by this remarkable display of inanity, I recovered and informed her, "Sweetie, he wasn't trying to molest you. He just wanted to dry his goddamn clothes, which YOU forgot to remove from the dryer. As for violation-- if he broke into your room, stole your underwear out of your drawer, took off his clothes, and put them on, THEN you can feel violated. Not until." It makes me sick to no end to hear "women" (really spoiled perma-adolescent girls) like her get all worked up over a minor "violation" when all over the world, there are women (and men) getting raped and beaten in silence. If any of these perma-ados come whining to me, they are told in no uncertain terms to get a life, because their sniveling, far more than just being annoying, actually begins to trivialize the word "violation" by watering down its grievous connotation with petty issues. In short "Your constant whining makes women who actually HAVE something to cry about get taken less seriously. So shut up and deal with it." Of course the Princesses don't listen, but at least they don't gripe so much in my presence. (As for those of you-- male or female-- who genuinely HAVE been violated by some hideous troll-person, I have nothing but the deepest compassion and empathy for you. Take time to grieve, take time to heal, take time to get therapy, if you develop depression or PTSD, take time to get treated for those-- and they are treatable. However, I implore you to resolve that you will NOT allow this to ruin your life. Whatever happened to you was NOT your fault, but your mounting a healthy (or at least a fighting) response to it is YOUR responsibility. Don't fall in love with the idea of You As Tragic Hero. It's so much more fulfilling to live a happy life in defiance of your past.) Men love to play "victim" too, especially when it lets them avoid the reality of rejection. Because I am petite, fair, and generally cordial (until someone gives me a reason not to be), men seem to think that I will go along with whatever they want (e.g. waste 20 minutes talking to them about their dull, dull, day, then gleefully offer my phone number and sexual services). When they are met with a brisk rebuff, they then expect me to conform to another stereotyped set of behavior-- that of the Nasty Bitch (menspeak for a woman who is rude for no good reason, as opposed to a Heartless Bitch, who speaks her mind without self-censorship, but isn't just egregiously an asshole). One guy, having been told "No, thanks, I'm really not interested," angrily replied, "well, why don't you just tell me to get the fuck out of your face, then?" Ordinarily, I would have no trouble telling anyone annoying to fuck off, but it was so painfully obvious that he just wanted me to say something that would make him a victim-- I can just hear him now... "Oooh, that Nasty Bitch, she was so horrible. Who wants her anyway? Why are all women such... BITCHES?? *snivel, snivel*". (Also, what kind of LOSER is this guy if he tries to MANIPULATE me into being the bad guy when he is ASKING ME OUT??) I refused to play into his little World O' Self-Pity and simply said, "No, I think that, in this case, 'no' is quite sufficient" and left, leaving him to ponder the idea that he had asked out a Decent Human Being (albeit a Heartless Bitch) and been rejected because HE was an ASSHOLE. (Of course, such a radical notion would probably cause what few neurons he has to explode, but, hey, you can't blame me for trying) In short, this Bitch's Territory is a No-Whine Zone! So stop coddling yourselves, Mr/Ms Milquetoast, leave the Pampers behind already, and act like the adult your hormone-pumping gonads think you should be.
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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