Mulling the b-word

Once upon a f—— time, I would have been too afraid to put that line online. I probably wouldn’t have even written it in my journal in fear I would offend someone or look badly.

(No one ever has read my journals aka diaries) but those days of insecurity and shyness were expelled from my being by age and experience. Nearing 30, I’ve found my shyness (which held me back from even trying to stick up for myself amongst my ‘besties’ in high school) to be almost non-existent.

A t-shirt from Married to the Mob with a take on the famous book by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.

A t-shirt from Married to the Mob with a take on the famous book by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.


My filter, or whatever it is that keeps me socially gracious apparently needs some fixing in social settings  as well – according to my fiancé.

At first, my shyness used to come off as being rude, not speaking to anyone apart from whoever I might’ve known at the table, but now I find there’s no one that I won’t talk to. I’m not a born-again Chatty Cathy or anything, I just have no issue approaching someone even a stranger – or someone I’ve known for years with a question, or sometimes a confrontation.

I’ve found myself a few times unliked by new girls brought into my little social circle. The majority of my friends are guys, they bring new girlfriends/friends/’friends’ around every once in a while and I’ve gotten along with a few of them – like two, maybe.

They’ve just never been my ‘type’ of girls, I wouldn’t have chosen to hang out with them on my own and thus I made little effort to become friends with most of them. Because, why would I have to? I’m not trying to sleep with them.

You’re probably saying what a bitch. But no, those two  girls I’ve truly befriended, and have hung out with without the guys too.

So there.


I’ve also found myself in situations where through the grapevine one guy or gal has an issue with me. “She’s stubborn” it’s been said of me “She’s dry” and probably the most hurtful “She’s a bitch”.

Recently, I found myself in a spot where I spoke up against something I found unfair and offensive in our little social group, naturally it was misinterpreted and thus, the bitch title.

Call me stubborn, dry, bossy – fine. I’m not a bitch if it’s not called for. And this guy called for it.

My new-found mouth has not gotten me in (big) trouble yet, and  I feel I am respectful and professional enough to keep the She-Hulk inside of me under wraps the majority of the time, but hey, you should probably know she’s in there.

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