In a lot of ways, we were the same. We were both little black girls around the same age living on the same base. Our dads were both in the Navy. We each were middle only girls in a house full of boys. But she was so different, too. She had long pretty hair that didn’t stick up in the back. She wore dresses and mary janes. She was polite, soft spoken, and knew Bible verses off the top of her head. She ate her vegetables. She said things like “PJ, I don’t think riding our bikes on the highway is a good idea.” In contrast, I was trouble in overalls with ashy knees and a potty mouth.

So I spent all of my time at Keisha’s house. Her mother was one of those black people who put up portraits of famous black people in their homes as if they knew them personally. (I bet you everything in my checking account that she’s got a picture of Obama in her living room right now like he’s her brother-in-law.) But it wasn’t just that Keisha’s mama had these pictures; she had them in the bathroom. So if you sat down on the toilet to do your business, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. would be staring directly at you.

Let me tell you, I like my private bathroom time. It’s taken a lot to get to the point where I don’t lock the door so my husband can’t come in. So trying to go to the bathroom while MLK and Mr. X stare at me was hard. I imagined them waiting until I left the room and saying stuff like “Did you smell that? What are they feeding that kid?” or “I marched on Washington for this???” It was just too much for me.

So I decided not to use their bathroom anymore.

But I was a kid. And we’re drinking Kool-aid and eating cookies and running around like demons. And I had to go. And my house was too far. And I am deathly afraid of peeing on myself. So, I did what I had to do. I ran outside and peed in the bushes.

Suddenly I heard “WHAT ARE YOU DOING????!!!!” I looked up and there was Keisha’s mom standing over me.

I was caught. She didn’t like me hanging out with her kid anyway. She thought I was a bad influence. I had to help her understand I wasn’t being bad, I was just doing what I had to do. So I said “Martin Luther King made me do it.”

We played at my house after that. Partly because I was still freaked out by the civil rights convention in their bathroom. Partly because I was banned from their house from that point on.

Photo Credit: cliff1066™

…I was on the subway and had no reception.

…I knew you were going to ask me for something and I didn’t feel like doing it.

…You called me from a private number. Why would I answer a call from someone who doesn’t want me to know their phone number?

…I told you to stop calling me and now I have to show you that I mean it.

…I don’t want to talk to you. And I don’t have to, either.

when i decide to care about someone, particularly a guy, i expect them to be there for me..and lately my Boyfriend has been kind of ignoring me…. should i be a bitch and dump him or find a way to talk to him about it?

This is one of the stupidest letters I’ve ever gotten here on The Bitch Blog. (The fact that it’s not the absolute stupidest is a testament to the type of letters that hit my inbox sometimes.)

Listen, I know that people use “bitch” to mean someone who is mean but I think you’ve been misinformed. Every bitch I know gets what she wants because she is driven, determined, and not to be underestimated.

So let’s think this out together: You want him to be there for you. How does dumping him without expressing that get you what you want? (Well, unless what you want is to dump him.) It just doesn’t make any sense the way you’re telling it.

The direct way is the best way. Just tell him what you need, make it easy for him to give it to you, and know where your limit is so that you have clear idea of when to pull the emergency brake on this thing. And please, please make sure that you know what “be there for me” means when you have this conversation. I just have a feeling he’ll be as clueless as I am about the definition.

I know a little something about not exactly being made for mass appeal. I put my name on a book and a blog with the word “bitch” on it for fucks sake. I know without asking that certain people aren’t going to like what I’m putting out there. If you are offended by the word “bitch,” you’re not going to like what I do anyway.

Early, early in the beginning of this blog, I wrote about how every time I see Kate Gosselin, I’m reminded to watch the way I speak to my husband. Some Kate Gosselin fan pick it up, put it on her site and the feeding frenzy commenced. At first I was defensive. But then I remembered that if you’re a Kate Gosselin superfan, there is little we have in common anyway.

Last month, I wrote something on my freelancing blog about how I didn’t want to get guest posts from marketers who wanted to write subpar content in exchange for linking to their shitty irrelevant customers. The post was called “Why You Can’t Guest Post for Me.” A lot of people commented on it and tweeted about it. One person tweeted to someone else saying they wouldn’t want to write on my site anyway, including me in the message so that I saw it. At first, I considered tweeting back trying to explain what I meant. But then I remembered that only two things could have happened there. One, the person is a sleezy marketer trying to somehow get me to link back to a plastic surgery site knowing that it has nothing to do with what the readers came for. Two, the person didn’t read the post and just made some assumptions about what might be in there. Either way, I’m not looking for someone like that to guest on site. Phew! One less unsolicited email in my inbox.

In each of these cases, none of these people were my audience.

And you want to know how I know they’re not my audience? Because they don’t like the fundamental core of what I’m serving. Let’s say I’m a Chinese restaurant. I don’t serve pizza. If you want pizza, coming to my restaurant is a bad idea. And I’m not going to start serving fried rice pizza so that you can like me. I’m not good at it and it would alienate the people who do like what I’m doing. So the only choice is to make food for those who like what I make. Either you like what I got or you don’t. If you do, come in. If you don’t, please get out of the way so that the ones who do can get through the door.

Whether it’s your personal or professional brand, the goal is to find something you can stand behind and find the people who get it later. You are not supposed to find something people believe in and then mold yourself around it. If you did that, you’d eventually get tired of it. You’d go nuts. I’m not saying you should never change. I just saying that chasing mass appeal is not going to put you someplace you’re proud of.

Mass appeal is overrated.

We are what we are. Every day we receive feedback from the world. Remember to take it in context. From my experience, trying to please everyone generally ends up with no one pleased. And if you somehow manage to not offend anyone, you’re probably bland, beige, and just plain boring.

“Tribe” is a very overused word these days but I can’t come up with a better way to describe surrounding yourself with those who get it. No, this doesn’t mean you should try to only be around people who think the way you do. It means you should carefully select who you allow to influence your life. Your tribe can be a small group of friends, a community or even an industry. Find your tribe and speak to them. Not everyone will get you but the ones that do will make up for the ones that don’t.

I never understood why preachers shouldn’t preach to the choir. The choir’s there. You know they’re receptive. You know that if you’re selling your own brand of Bible bookmarks, they might be in the market for one. Maybe it’s because preachers are supposed to go out and persuade people to join. I’m not sure. But, I know I’m not trying to force anyone into my choir. I just plan to make beautiful music and maybe you’ll want to come in on your own.

Photo Credit: Flabber DeGasky

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