Scratch that. I do talk about my husband all the time. (I mean, I see this guy every damn day!) I recount his jokes, his twisted logic and his crazy work schedule.

But, I don’t talk about him the way you see other people talking about their significant others on social media. I’m not a “I love my husband. He’s the best. We’re so in love” type person. I figure that if I’m still around, obviously he’s the best. And, why wouldn’t I love him? I think that if you’re married, you should probably love that person. That’s like writing “I breathe in oxygen and convert it to carbon dioxide” as a Facebook status. Of course you do, sweetie. It’s how this goes. And yes, I hope that if you’re legally entangled with some guy that sleeps in your bed and has access to your bank account that you at least love him. At least a little bit.

And can I share a little observation I’ve developed over the years? Well, I’ve noticed that people who tend to tell you how great something is over and over again don’t always think it’s so great. The hard sell isn’t necessary for something that’s obviously amazing. I can just look at it and tell it’s amazing. So sometimes when I see how gushy some people are about the fact that they wrangled someone into loving them, I think that it’s more what they want you to think  instead of what they really think.

(And of course there are exceptions to this rule. My brother and his wife are one. My friend Crystal and her husband are another. I’m sure you have a few in your world, too. )

Let’s get gushy for a minute.

But I love my husband, even if I don’t shout it to the Interwebs everyday. He amazes me. He’s always 10 percent smarter than I give him credit for. He’s loyal to a fault. He is Captain Save A Hoe on any given day for anyone he thinks needs it. He thinks I’m good at everything and tells people, bringing me clients for my business. He’s funny as fuck, too. Even when I’m mad over something I need to let go, he can make me laugh with something he pulled out of his ass at the last second. (Not literally, guys.) He’s always got a song, a dance, a whatever to make me forget that I’m supposed to be not paying attention to him.

I hold grudges and he forgives so damn easily. He’s sensitive and he tries to hide it but he’s bad at it. He’s got this hustle about him that inspires me to do more with my life. He’s a fixer and a doer. When I think he’s not listening and I’m giving him shit about his lack of communication skills, he’s quietly making plans in his head to fix everything in a way I never considered because I was too busy talking and talking and talking.

He can make friends with anyone.  He knows the value of a strategically placed sandwich when I’m tripping because it’s probably just low blood sugar. I just fucking love his face–the way it’s put together makes me smile. I love the way his eyes are so slanted that he can have his eyes open but it looks like they’re closed. And when he looks at something he really likes–like he’s watching a funny commercial or something–his eyes crinkle and sparkle. I always thought that was romance novel bullshit because I’d never seen someone’s eyes sparkle before Hubs. But there it is. Sometimes I watch him watch TV just I can see him sparkle.

He’s the best I’ve ever had in every way I could possibly mean that.

The gushy ends here.

If I gushed everyday though, I’d be sweeping the things we need to work on under the carpet. Being married is such hard work, man. It’s like a three legged race where you have to jump hurtles and play Dance Dance Revolution. You’re more likely to fall on your ass and hurt yourself than to finish the race in one piece. There’s an art to meshing your life with someone else’s in a way that’s beneficial for everyone involved. I’m still working on it that and I honestly don’t think I’ll ever master it. But I’m trying real hard here, guys and that’s all I got.

Photo Credit: thezartorialist.com

I hate being around my cousin because her life is so much better than mine. She has a great job even though she never finished high school. She and her fiance have two beautiful kids between them and one on the way. She seems to have everything. I feel like I have nothing in comparison. I’d rather not even be around her but my family is so small that if I choose not to attend family events, it’s will be obvious I’m not there. I’m just sick of seeing her with green grass when all I have are weeds.

Sometimes there’s a reason that grass is so green. Maybe somebody over there is tending to it. Maybe they’re watering it, fertilizing it and keeping the neighborhood dogs from pissing all over it. The truth is that if you’re not the type to water and care for your grass, it doesn’t matter where you go because your grass will always suck.

This seems like simple case of jealousy, which is natural. Obviously, your life has it’s good points, too. You’re just not seeing them right now because you’re stuck in your feelings. You can’t help it how you feel but you can help is how you react. Are you going to use that jealousy to stew, wishing you could take your cousin’s good fortune? Or are you going to see as an example of how good things can be and use it to make some changes in your own life? My advice is to get away from that fence and concentrate on what’s going on with your own grass. What you find may really, really surprise you.

I’m kidding. I’ve seen pics of them online and it’s a known fact that they were together. I’m just saying that if you were going to be on a reality TV show based on your relationship with a man and he refused to be seen on said show, you should rethink this plan.

But I’m not here to talk about Emily and her ridiculous relationship. I hear to talk about Jimmy and Chrissy.

Until this show, I have never thought twice about Jim Jones but watching him on TV reminds me of my husband. Rough edges, tough guy exterior, undercover sweetheart. Oh and all he wants is his woman to be happy and some peace and quiet. (Dear Hubs: Don’t hold your breath waiting for that one or you might mess around and die. XOXO Your Wife.) I have a friend who makes fun of me because I don’t like it when she talks shit about Jim Jones now. Two years ago, I would have barely known who she was talking about. But today it bothers me because Jimmy and my husband are cut from the same cloth. And I can get real Mama Bear about my Hubs at the drop of a hat. I don’t think like I have much in common with Chrissy but I feel like I’ve been married to Jimmy for years.

So I get why Jimmy’s dragging his feet because Hubs can sometimes drag his feet when all I want is for him to go, go, go. Jimmy is very happy with what he has. He’s a simple guy under it all. He just wants to come home to Chrissy, whether that means being married or being boo’d up. As long as she’s there and she’s not nagging him about anything, he’s happy. If it ain’t broke, don’t break it by trying to fix it.

I even understand that half-assed proposal part two, he gave her. (Yes, I said “proposal part two.” Because he’d already said yes to her proposal.) Because that’s the way he talks and that his persona. He shows up places like you owe him money, throws some diamonds at you and then invited all your friends and family to celebrate it. And if he had gotten down on one knee and said some cheesy romantic thing, we’d all know for fact that someone coached him. Because that’s not his style.

On the hand, I get Chrissy, too. She’s a smart girl. She knows that people get married every day and a butt load of them don’t make it until death do us part. Someone can leave you just as sure as they married you. It just might be a little more paperwork. But, I respect that fact that she knows she wants to have kids and she’s not going to plan to have a kid with someone who wouldn’t commit to marrying her.

And even though I almost never wear my wedding ring, I get the ring thing, too. She asked him to marry her and gave him a very nice ring. He said yes. The next step would have been for him to go get her a ring if he wasn’t just attempting to quiet her. Wedding dates and plans will come at their own pace, but not until he takes the next step to say he’s really going down this road. The ring is a solid, tangible sign that he’s on board.

You can’t ever really know what’s inside someone else’s relationship, even if they have staged reality TV proposals and cameras following them around their house. So I don’t know much about what really goes on with these two. I do like them together from what I can tell. Will they get married anytime soon? Ehh, I’m not betting my cupcake money on it. But, if they do, I can’t wait to hear Jimmy’s vows. Oh and I hope Mama Jones sings at the reception. And that Emily shows up with Fabulous but we never see him because he’s in the bathroom or something. Now, that’s something I’d watch.

Me: So who are you and what are you doing here?

Bitchy: Well, if I told you my real name, I’d have to kill you, so we’ll just go with Bitchy. And what am I doing here? I’m just here to kind of shake up the library world a bit, I guess.

Me:I think you do, actually. You’re kinda famous. Were you aware of this?

Bitchy: It hits me sometimes, especially when I look at my follower count on Twitter. And I wonder WHY all these people want to listen to be YELL IN ALL CAPS ABOUT CRAZY PEOPLE.

Me: Because it’s fun. I’m one of those followers you know.

Bitchy: Hahaha, yes, nothing against them, you know…

Me: So where did this Bitchy Librarian thing start?

Bitchy: I actually point the finger at @FuckItLibrarian. She started on Twitter and told me to join and so I did. It because a great outlet for my (somewhat irrational) anger. Really, Twitter helps keep me sane.

Me: I’ve also noticed that your avatar is either very boobalicious or legalicious. Which one’s your favorite?

Bitchy: I actually like the legalicious ones better. They’re more fun to me.
It’s amazingly complicated to create a sexy Twitter avi. People have no idea.

Me: Oh yeah?

Bitchy: There’s so much pre-planning. You have to get the angle just right. I always end up with so many ridiculous outtakes. I probably look so ridiculous while I’m taking the pictures, too. Stocking and socks strewn everywhere. Like Ke$ha came over for a sleepover and left all her shit.

Me: Not many people can say that. Ok so you tweet while working and I read them because they’re funny, mostly about how stupid the public at large can be. What’s the stupidest question someone asked you in the library, mecca of stupid ass questions.

Bitchy: Probably the worst one was this guy who came in probably about 15 minutes after we opened. He came up to me at the reference desk, AFTER HE WALKED IN THE DOORS, and said “Yo, are you open yet?”

Me: Did you tell him no?

Bitchy: I just kind of looked at him for a few seconds and said, “Well, you’re standing here, aren’t you?”

Me: Now, I know this is hard because you love your job where you get to have teenagers fucking up shit, angry people mad that they get to use the library for free and such an amazing array of homeless people to see every day…but what would you do if you couldn’t be a librarian?

Bitchy: That is hard! Because really, as much as I bitch and complain about my job, that’s all in good fun. I don’t think a lot of people understand that. I really and genuinely do love what I do. But if I wasn’t a librarian, I’d probably work in the publishing industry or as an editor or something.

Me: I know. You have to love it. We all “hate” our jobs sometimes. But we keep going back for a reason, right?

Bitchy: Exactly. If i really hated my job as much as people think I did, I would have quit a long time ago.

Me: Or shot someone. Or put a bomb in nonfiction.

Bitchy: HAHA. That reminds me, this guy witnessed a fight the other day and asked me if I got hazard pay for working at the library. I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

Me: I think you should get hazard pay!

Bitchy: I mean, there was just that ONE really bad incident where that guy had to be tased. Nothing major.

Me: I love libraries and I’ve been going to them since I was a little kid. I’m the only person I know who has 4 library cards. But it’s such a Bermuda Triangle of crazy shit in there! I saw a homeless guy watching porn a little portable DVD player. Like he was at home. Which he obviously doesn’t have.

Bitchy: Now that’s innovation right there. I don’t know what we could even say about that. He’s not using library equipment.

Me: My librarians didn’t say anything. They just hope he doesn’t poop on anything.

Bitchy: Yeah, that’s our biggest worry. Don’t piss, shit, or jizz on anything, patrons.

Me: That should be a sign. Fuck that “Please Be Courteous.”

Bitchy: Right? They might actually read a sign that says jizz.

Me: :raises hand: I would!

Bitchy: Me too! Maybe we’re on to something.

Me: Ok so you’re called Bitchy Librarian for a reason. What’s the bitchiest thing you’ve ever done? It’s ok. I won’t tell anyone. (Yes I will.)

Bitchy: I went out with this guy THREE TIMES. Just three times. They were okay dates and the last time I just went out with him because he basically begged me to. And hey, free food.
So after the last time, he sent me COOKIES. IN THE MAIL. AT WORK.

Me: Free food is the only reason I met my husband. It’s all good.

Bitchy: When I opened the package, I was like WTF?! And I looked around to make sure no one saw it. Then I shoved it under my desk. So I fired off an email and was like “You are clearly more interested in me than I am in you.” I got a five paragraph response about how I led him on and how I should give him another chance. (He still emails me sometimes.) And then I threw his cookies away. TUPPERWARE AND ALL.

Me: Hahahaha! The fact that you had the willpower not to eat those cookies immediately makes you my hero. I would have eaten the cookies and had crumbs on my face when I told that guy I wasn’t going out with him again. Or I would have them smeared across my face while I was telling him I never got them.

Bitchy I was like “WHAT IF HE ROOFIED THE COOKIES AND IS WAITING OUTSIDE?” I was too freaked out.

Me: I wouldn’t have thought of that. I’m a glutton. I would be passed out at the reference desk. Or locked up in some little crazy Silence of the Lambs room as a sex slave.
Because I love cookies too much.

Bitchy: I love cookies, too! Had I not be so disgusted by the fact that he sent me cookies, I would’ve eaten them.

Me: Speaking of men. I hear you have one…that doesn’t know you’re Twitter famous. When does he get to know?

Bitchy: I kind of hinted at it last week. And then over the weekend, I told him who I was on Twitter, but we were sharing a pitcher of margaritas, so I’m not sure if he really got it. I was at a tweet up the other day and he was all “WTF is a tweet up?” so he’s not real into social media.

Me: If he wasn’t sufficiently impressed, he didn’t get it. He will though. Has your alter ego ever played a part in a relationship?

Bitchy: Yeeeaaah. My ex-husband was not too fond of my twitter alter-ego, which is why I’m trying to get this out early in a new relationship.

Me: What didn’t he like? Was he jealous of your awesomeness?

Bitchy: I think maybe. There were a lot of issues at play there.

Me: Ok, I’ve only got one more question. You ready?

Bitchy: I’m ready!

Me: Me and you are stuck on a desert island. (Not a dessert island because that’s for people can’t spell.) It’s like Lost except it’s not confusing either. Sand. Water. Me. You.
How long should I wait before I eat you?

Bitchy: You should probably eat me right away. I’m pretty skinny. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be for you. I’m that selfless.

Me: Ok, I’m grilling your ass up on hour 3. We’ll probably be rescued on hour 4.

Bitchy: HAHA. At least you had a good meal before getting arrested…

No more reality TV wrapups. Originally, I thought that since I was watching the shows anyway, some people enjoyed them and it was bringing in monster traffic, they were good for the website. But, I think they weren’t in line with what I want this site to be. I needed more of my own words and less telling you what happened last night on TV. I’ll still talk about the bitches of reality TV, but no more weekly posts about them. I will be live tweeting a lot of my favorites so join me on Twitter as @msbitchblog if you’re one of the folks who liked it.

One post a week. Speaking of weekly posts, I’m cutting back to one post a week. I think that means better content for people who actually read what I write as opposed to playing to the numbers. I’ll probably do one Dear Ms. Bitch letter a month and one Bitch Chat but that’s still up in the air.

No more This Week in Bitchery roundups. I love that I can put a spotlight on things I think are interesting or funny around the web each week but I’m not sure this is the place to do it. So I’m cutting back that weekly roundup you were seeing every Friday.

Newsletter coming soon. I’m also going to set up monthly email newsletters for updates, fresh content and monthly catchups for the hardcore readers so sign up if that describes you.

That’s all I have for now. I may make a few more cosmetic changes around here but I think that they’ll be small enough that you hardly even notice. You’re not going to get any more Bitch Blog posts until the new year. And I promise that the content will be more on point with this site’s original mission: to take the world by the balls one day at a time. And we’ll start with a Bitch Chat with Ms. Bitchy Librarian (Bitchy to her friends) herself. I can hardly wait but hopefully you can and you’ll be here when we start up again in about two weeks.

See you next year, Bitches.

Photo Credit: change by spcbrass

I sent texts back and forth with her last night and this morning but honestly I knew whatever I had to say was bullshit. Well, maybe not bullshit in the normal sense but bullshit in the fact that it wouldn’t make her feel better. Nothing but her cat coming back would do that and that’s not one of my super powers.

Selfish Tears

Between last night and this morning, I’ve cried a lot. If I’m being completely honest, I know it’s not necessarily for my friend or her cat. I’m crying because I’m thinking about my dog. I’m thinking about the tumor they found on her eye a couple of months ago and how I have a follow-up appointment this month. I’m thinking about the fact that if it’s grown, they want to do surgery on her and her age means that she could die as soon as they put her under. I’m thinking about the fact that even if she beats this, I have an 8 year old dog who probably has about five years left in her tops. And maybe less if those last few years aren’t so comfortable.

If you’re anything like me, you kinda live in this delusion that your pets will live forever. Intellectually, yes we know that eventually they will have to go. But most days, I act as if me and my dog are going to a nursing home together . . . which can only happen if I go there next year or something. So thinking about what happens after she dies, I know I’ll be devastated. Crazy, even. (Yes, even more crazy than I currently am.) I expect to lose it for a little while. I expect that certain family and friends are going to say “Oh, it’s just a dog.” And I expect that I will dress up like a ninja, go over to their houses and stab those people in their eyes in something that looks a lot like a Kill Bill movie.

Not “Just” Anything

Ok maybe I won’t do that. Maybe I’ll just quietly remove those people from my world for being so insensitive. Because my dog has done things from me some humans have never done, including my husband. She’s been my copilot on every single one of my out of state moves. She’s comforted me through my chronic illness, laying with me on the bathroom floor on those nights I couldn’t dare be more than two feet from the toilet. She has slept next to me when I cried myself to sleep over things I couldn’t change. She thinks taking a walk with me to the corner store is an adventure, not a chore. She thinks my bed is the best place to sleep in the world.

Saying my dog is just a dog is insulting. It belittles her because it’s not taking into the account all the other things she is, too. I’ve loved many people. Many people have loved me back. But no one loves me the way my dog does. And in return, she only wants me to feed her once a day, take her for a walk so she can do her business and sniff at stuff and let her sleep in my bed. That’s it. It’s the fucking deal of century and I’ll take it.

Back to My Friend

I think that the bravest and most foolish thing we do as humans is give love. Because whether it’s your dog or your husband, the best case scenario is that you get to love him until he dies, which is just about unbearable. Thank goodness for all the amazingly beautiful things in that happen in between because that’s what makes it all worth it. Besides, love is one of those weird things that you can only get if you’re willing to give. So while it hurts, give it until you can’t give anymore.

So if you’ve got a moment–and I know you do because you just read this whole thing–spend it in silence for Buckley, our friend who has gone on to the other side. He loved and was loved, which is really all any of us can ask from life. Whether you believe there’s something over there or not is up to you but I hope that whatever is there, he’s getting his favorite food and getting a nice head scratch from someone who understands that nobody in this world “just” anything.

Photo Credit: pet tags by ChristineLeiser

But the truth is that I’m far more like Batman than he will ever be. So this post is dedicated to my husband and all the other Batman wannabees out there. Here are the ways I live up to the Dark Knight’s legend:

No one knows where I live.

I’m notorious for not telling people my physical street address. I don’t even do it on purpose in most cases. I just don’t think everybody needs to know where I live. I’m also very territorial about my private space so getting an invite to my home is special treat for just about anyone. I’d rather come to your house to hang out or whatever. I’ve been friends with some people for well over ten years and they’ve never been inside a home of mine when they weren’t also living there. If you were to call any of my close friends or even my mother, none of them could tell you my current street address.

I often wear clothing in which you can see the outline of my nipples.

In a tasteful way, of course.

I’m a gadget freak.

I love shiny stuff not because it’s cool to be seen with those things but because of what they can do. I’m often showing off my hacked phone or how I can make my TV do this cool thing if I hold the remote just right. I don’t have a utility belt or cape just yet but Xmas is coming, folks. Hint. Hint.

I love a good cape.

See above. And yes, I will rock it with some tights and boots. No super dog dare even necessary.

I hate bullies.

There’s nothing I hate more than some big bully taking advantage of the little guy. I don’t think kicking someone when they’re down or flexing your muscles on someone who obviously can’t defend themselves makes you cool or in charge. It makes you a douchebag, actually. And I won’t stand for it and I’ve opened my big mouth on more than one occasion when I see someone abusing their strength or power. It’s gotten me in trouble. It’s gotten me called a bitch more times than I can count. But I believe that turning a blind eye while something you know is wrong is happening is just as bad participating.

I’m really good at the Batusi.

I’m a grudge holder. This is bad for the soul but good for making archenemies. Who are my enemies, you ask? Well, my mother and I have a love/hate thing going on. I have a longstanding feud  going with a baby that used to stalk me in Chicago. There’s a twelve year old boy in the Orlando, Florida area that I often do battle with. There are several librarians I am sworn to destroy. Comcast is always on my shit list and I don’t even have an account  anymore. Oh and there’s a little girl who pushed me in the first grade who I would still recognize to this day and if I see her, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Petty? Sure. But I’m also making the world safe for you. You’re welcome.

Sometimes I have sound effects and theme music.

It mostly comes from my mouth. So what? Don’t judge me.

I’m not a fucking superhero.

Batman isn’t a superhero. (Neither is Superman but we’ll talk about that another time.) He’s a rich guy with a lot of gadgets and a mean roundhouse kick. That doesn’t take away the fact that he does things that others couldn’t and wouldn’t even if they had the ability to. I talk big and I sometimes say or do things others can’t or won’t. This has earned me a certain reputation among those who know me. That doesn’t mean that I don’t get hurt or cry or need help, too, sometimes. Putting on a cape doesn’t make you a superhero. It just means you’re not afraid to try.