America’s Next Bill Clinton!

If I were a woman …

I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter if I had fuller breasts and long, golden hair that ran out my head, I wouldn’t make a very nice woman.

It doesn’t matter if you give me a uterus, or different sets of chromosomes, or even if you made me smell nicer, or stay cleaner, I wouldn’t make a nice woman.

Hell, give me my own vagina, with its own well-built system of reproduction and centers of pleasure, and I’d still wouldn’t make a very nice woman.

I know this because I know that by the time I am 12 or 13, I will hate men.

I wouldn’t hate them for their biology; I’d hate them for their ways to looking at me.

I’d hate them for their leery eyes and roaming hands – and the way they refer to me, not by my name, but as “hottie,” “sexy,” “babe,” or a myriad of other nicknames used to objectify me.

I would hate them for blaming my anger and attitude on my being “on the rag,” when in fact it is their ways of treating me that makes me angry.

I would hate that they holler at me as I walk down the street. What, should I come over there, drop my pants and jump their bone?

I would hate that if I bring up anything that makes me upset about them, I am being a whiny bitch.

I would hate them for treating me like a princess, but instantly call me a bitch if I were to turn down their sexual advances.

I would hate them for looking at me at a vehicle for their pleasure, and not as my own complete person.

Even in their compliments, I’d hate them for pre-supposing that just because I am a smart girl, that I am unique.

I’d most definitely have trouble trusting them – for I would never knew if one was genuine, or came from a long line of those trying to get in my pants

I would hate them for not knowing what the word “no” means. It doesn’t mean continuing to pursuit me. It doesn’t mean I am playing coy. It means you’re probably a dumbass and I am not interested in you.

I would hate them for roaming at bars, even when I am talking to my friends, trying to break in to our conversations. Leave me alone! I am here with friends!

I would hate the drinks they offer as a way to “break the ice,” as if somehow I am a prostitute and they are buying my time with drinks

I hate them because they control the media and images of me are distorted to be the way THEY see it

I would hate them because images of my body are spread everywhere – some of which are mutilated, as a way to promote their products

I would hate the porn industry. I would hate the pressure they put on me to act “accordingly.”

I would hate that I cannot be myself, but have to compare myself to unrealistic standards.

I would hate the make-up, the shoes and everything else that I need for a job interview just to be successful.

I would hate that I must always be perfect, but perfection is not good enough. I am encouraged to diet more, look better, lose more weight.

I would hate that I am robbed of all that is me – that I am made out to be what the patriarchy wants me to be. I would hate not being my own person.

But, thankfully, I am not a woman. I am a man, full of privileges and free to live my life as I see fit. I am still raging mad.

I am mad that my friends, sisters, loved ones, potential lovers and future daughters are subjected to shit they’d never think of doing to a man.

I am piss-hot the people I love are viewed as objects and not people.

I am upset that most people don’t empathize with the people I love.

But thankfully, I am a man. If a were a woman, I wouldn’t make a very nice one. By 14, I think I’d be in jail for murder.

August 7, 2007, 5:07 pm
Filed under: bitch, Feminism, feminists, gender, gender roles, language, sex, women

Over the Web-site there is a blog regarding the outlawing of the word “bitch” because it is demeaning. I am a fan of free speech and reshaping language. I believe “bitch” to be a good thing. And I think it’s helped with a few questions I’ve had!

The answer is this: there aren’t enough bitches in the world.

The question: every little nagging inquiry about my status and inability to maintain a relationship, often sparked by curious family members I see at Thanksgiving dinners and those who wonder why I manage to break morerelationships than I do wine glasses.

There you have it. There’s your answer: “there aren’t enough bitches in the world.”

Before you call the NOW police and report me to your local FMF chapter, to take my feminist card away from me, let us define what a “bitch” is. Although I guess those of you who have read “the Bitch Manifesto” know where I am going with this.

A woman is called bitch because she is strong, intelligent and doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s called a bitch because she’s ambitious, outspoken and doesn’t let anything stop her from accomplishing her dreams. She’s a bitch, as defined by society, because she challenges what’s natural, does what makes her feel happy, and doesn’t accept society’s norms and rules – especially when said norms and rules are designed to keep her down.

She is strong, and speaks out when a situation makes her uncomfortable. But she doesn’t do it as a way to complain, but rather, to say, “Continue what you’re doing and I’ll kick your fucking ass!”

She fights for her fellow women, but not because they’re women. She fights for them because she sees them as human beings, just as she sees herself.

She doesn’t need a man or woman in her life, as she is a complete person. While a partner – of either sex, would enhance her life, it doesn’t define her life. Her happiness comes from her accomplishments and what she can do for the world and herself, not by virtue of her “womanhood.”

She’s happy with who she is, and doesn’t have to dress up or put on make-up to make anyone happy; if she so chooses to do that, it’s to make herself happy. She owns her body, and is willing to use it for her own pleasure and the pleasure of those she deems deserving, but dare pressure her into anything and she’ll kick your ass.

She loves her fellow human beings, to include children, but doesn’t necessarily think she has a maternal calling. While she’ll be happy with kids, having them doesn’t define her. They’re neither an extension of her nor are they the greatest things in her life. They are merely a part of her life, and she’ll do all she can to take care of them, but kids don’t dominate her life.

She is a woman, but she’s a human being first. She is defined by the fact that she walks and breaths, and not because she has a vagina.

Society is afraid of bitches because they’re not natural. They challenge the patriarchy, they make people uncomfortable in their own shoes. So, instead of worshipping bitches, they write them off, and they look at bitches as undesirable and lesbians and whatever you can think of.

But, me? I love bitches! I love each and everyone of them, and I don’t care what society says. Of my relationships, only one was with a bitch. It was good. I didn’t have to treat her like anything other than a human being. We respected each other, and loved each other, but knew we didn’t need each other. She did her things to change the world, and I did mine. For Christmas, she donated $100 to Planned Parenthood for me; and I donated $100 to the Make-a-Wish Foundation for her. She kicked ass.

She’s only one among many bitches out there.

Hillary Clinton = a total bitch.

Gloria Steinem = the bitch of bitches.

Lisa Simpson = a fictional bitch.

Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton = the foremothers of bitchery.

Angelina Jolie = the biggest bitch in Hollywood (although one would argue she’s a privileged white bitch, which makes the complexities of class, race and gender the moreso interesting.)

My future wife = better be a bitch.

My future daughter = will be raised to be the biggest 5-year-old bitch in pre-school.

The next time I am on a date and decide the girl is good enough for a second date, I’ll say with the utmost sincerity, “You’re the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.” I think I’d enjoy getting a black eye in a restaurant.

All of you who with whom I associate = total bitches – and if you’re a male, you’re an honorary bitch, and I love you all for it. In fact, I think there might be something wrong if, in the 21st Century, a woman isn’t a bitch.

One of my passions is changing language and gender. I’ll bet that if we can take the word “bitch” back and make it into something positive, as defined by so many feminist scholars, “bitch” then becomes a good word.

By the way, the BITCH Manifesto, one of my favorite feminist reads, can be found here.