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1:51 p.m. - 2001-11-30

I'M A PROUD CARD-CARRYING BITCH

For those of you who were the least bit concerned ... yes ... I apologized to Susie this morning for saying she had acted like a bitch last night.

She accepted my apology and admitted she had been acting like a bitch as well. "But," she pointed out. "It was only because you were acting like such a bastard."

This is how we kiss and make up.

I've never really understood the whole "Don't you DARE call me a bitch" stance that some women take.

I don't mind being called a bastard. I know I'm not a bastard. I don't care if someone thinks I'm a bastard. I guess I can act like a bastard and if that's the case, maybe I need to be referred to as a bastard.

But it's not something that's going to send me careening into therapy for several months.

I had a female friend years ago that would NOT let anyone call her a bitch.

Therefore...being me...I'd bust my ass to see if I could somehow slip it into a conversation with her just to see if I could get it past her.

You know the drill...

FEMALE FRIEND: "So Uncle Bob...have you heard that new Van Halen song?"

ME: "Yeah, Female Friend! That song kicks ass!"

FEMALE FRIEND: "I know! David Lee Roth is soooo sexy!"

ME: "Tell me something I DON'T know, you fine assed bitch!"

(SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!)

FEMALE FRIEND: "Don't you DARE call me a bitch!!"

ME: "But I said you had a fine ass! Doesn't that count for anything?"

Luckily for all involved...Susie doesn't take the label "Bitch" seriously. When I use the word, I am using it as a euphenism for "nag".

Some women think "Bitch" is the absolute worst putdown ever. No way. There's tons of worst names you can call someone.

Here's just a few:

"Whore"

"Skank"

"Skank Whore"

"Slut"

"Crackhead"

"Canine fucker"

"Crackheaded canine fucking skank whore slut"

See?

Now I dunno about you, but you can call me a bitch all day long over Crackheaded canine-fucking skank whore slut.

Maybe it's just me.

Anyway, the apology was handed over with the excuse that we're both under a lot of stress lately and that's the reason we're both edgy. She's stressing about her upcoming test tomorrow and I'm stressing because I've run out of ideas on how to avoid her family throughout the holidays and she's foiled the only plan I had (accompanying me to South Carolina and leaving 16 crackheaded canine-fucking skank whore sluts in charge of our home for several days).

She sent me a little apology email card today with a little pig on it saying "I'm Sowy"...which is a pun because some pigs are sows.

I sent her an email back telling her to stop being such an apologetic bitch.

She sent me an LOL back.

No matter how you look at it ... it's love, kiddies.


She sent me another email saying she has to go to Albany, Georgia next weekend for a mandatory meeting and wants me and Andrew to go with her.

I've been to Albany. It's the armpit of hell there. We were offered a job there in our bar days and almost took it until we came to our senses and realized that nobody in their right minds relocates for a bar job.

Well...crackheaded canine-fucking skank whore sluts do. But...c'mon...do they really count?

I guess we'll end up going. But what this means is she'll be in a meeting all day on Saturday while I sit with the kid in a hotel room or in the smallest mall in America...the Albany Mal. It's so small, it could only afford one "L" in "Mall". They have a Sears and a Starbucks. Welcome to the mal! Hope you like ratchets and cappuchinos!

I especially hate the drive because it's a three hour drive through cotton fields. After the second hour passes, you're dying for anything exciting to happen. I'd even welcome a bunch of psychotic Amish children chasing us down the road. "Children of the Cotton" or something. It's a truly depressing drive.

But you know what?

I'm going.

Because I REFUSE to let her call me a bastard and make me cry again.

That ain't gonna happen, sista.

I just might wave my finger in her face and make my head rotate around in circles on my neck.

To emphasize my point, mind you.


During our mall walk today at lunch, I noticed one of those clothing stores that appeals to drug dealers and gang members had a mannequin out front with his hand resting on his crotch.

This wasn't the work of some customer prankster. This is how the actual dummy was manufactured.

It's as if they're trying to say "Guys...this may be one fly FUBU outfit...but look how cool you'll look with your hand grabbing your lice-infested crotch while wearing it!"

And we (not you...me and people my age) wonder what's wrong with today's youth.

Well, I'll tell ya...you've got mannequins teaching young men how cool they'll look latched onto their penis in public and you've got young ladies trying desperately to avoid being called the "B" word because ... well...IT'S A WORD DAMMIT! And nobody ... I mean NOBODY calls me a WORD!

I'd like to just remind everyone ... in the real world...sticks and stones are what you have to worry about. The way I understand it...names can never hurt you.

I'm giddy.

And enjoying my day too much to be sitting here griping.

Have a wonderful weekend! If Andy sleeps in tomorrow at the hotel, I'll catch this baby up in the morning.

I wouldn't count on it though.

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