What’s up Bitchfaces? Listen, I know I’m late to work again for like the 5011th time this month, but today, I have a good reason.
I have a reason. Listen, I was doing some shit, ok, and it was work related.
So, we talked about me getting my well-toned ass up and dragging Safety and the Single Lady over to Medium. I’m working on that, but formatting and you know my IT guy is a real bitch. I can’t get her to do shit. Lazy bitch.
However, remember the column I mentioned the other night? Denise O’Neill, our girl in SW Florida with that nasty ass incel snake handling piece of shit neighbor who harassed her to the point of her being afraid to leave her own house? I found it. Please take a minute to refamiliarize yourself with the story of Denise. She’s important to this column.
The picture of me above was taken when I was 38. As you can see, I have my mothers genes, and we age well, but we’re terrible Bitchfaces. I know this and I roll with it. However, I have had this bite me in the ass a lot in life, until I learned to deal with shit like I do today. Which is with threats of violence followed by actual fucking violence if you think for a second your little fucking clown show is welcome in my general vicinity. It isn’t.
Denise had a horrible neighbor. Waited for her to try to slink to her car, and would bumrush out to sexually harass her. Weird motherfucker walking around with a python draped over his shoulders, trying to creep her into talking to him. And worst of all, he was in the process of eviction with the apartment complex, and should have already been out for nonpayment. If only. If only simple accounting and beaurocracy could have saved our girl.
Ladies who read me, I am 100% positive you know this situation. You’re trying to get from the building to your car or bus stop or Uber without a certain male spotting you and trying to do his impression of hitting on you. We’ve all lived it. If you are a woman, you have lived it.
Now, I remember a me in my 20’s who would do the sprinting to my car, or having a male coworker escort me, or in the worst scenarios, my homeboy Sean I’ve talked of before, with his 6’3 former Michigan ball playing ass come and escort me out of my job due to harassment. I remember just feeling like it wasn’t worth the confrontation, if I can just avoid the drama just one more day.
But then what? What is going to happen the next day, ladies? How many fucking days are you going to run, to hide in your car, or behind your drapes? Call in sick? Avoid going to lunch? Avoid walking up that street?
We’re taught as women to appease, to go with the flow, to just be Good Girls, be Sweet Girls, just don’t upset them. Don’t let that superfragile male ego hear you click clacking down the hall in your heels or he’s going to get upset that you didn’t stop to give him your best doe eye impression before you get back to living your actual fucking existence.
I urge you, today, at this moment, forget all that fucking doe eyed shit. Drop it right now like you dropped Tommy Stevens in the 8th grade after he lied and told people he got to second, and you didn’t even know what second was. Drop all of that whole vibe. Kick it out the door with the toe of your heel, and let the maintenance man pick it up. Now.
Letting yourself be backed into a corner or forced into submissive behavior is not the answer. Let’s put it in another light. Let’s say it’s Janet from Accounting, and she’s got a bone to pick with you about the expense report you submitted. Are you literally going to change up your whole fucking routine, call in sick, avoid going to lunch, and take a secondary route to your car to avoid the confrontation you know Janet is wanting to have?
Fuck no. You’re going to go into her office, tell her you found the receipt she’s looking for and to get the fuck off of your back. Shit. Not everyone lives for their 10 key machine, Janet.
You’re going to be assertive.
Cool. As you should be. Every woman at every time during every day. Assertive. Which is a nice way of saying Bitchface. You strap your Bitchface on and you get this shit popping.
Look, I don’t give a fuck if you have to imagine you’re me. That’s fine. Slide your feet into those heels, and walk in the same way I would. Think to yourself, “oh, I wish these pussy ass hos would today”, because that’s exactly how I do it. I’m not slinking anywhere. I am not avoiding, I am not pretending to be ill, I am getting right the fuck out of this chair and I’m addressing it head on, be it an ex with an attitude about something I wrote, or something going bump in the night. I’m facing it down, because if I don’t it develops power over me. It will paralyze me with fear.
No. We’re not doing that shit today.
You’re not a victim. I’m not a victim. We’ve already established this, and I know all of you, from one point of interaction or another. Well, 90% of you. I know you’re not victims. You come here and you talk to me, and we all know I’m a horrible bitch. But you say your piece. And you do it with grace. And you’re assertive. So do that. Be that.
Read the column about Denise and understand why it upsets me so much to know that running to and from her car didn’t save her. We aren’t prey, we will not act as though we are.
Give me your thoughts, the Bitchface lines are open.
My condolences to Ms. Denisse O'Neill's family and friends 😔
The way I go about my daily routine will have a few changes.
You know, I told my partner I was a coward, I really am but of the dangerous kind. Why? because if someone thinks they would stalk me and get near me they're going to have a very very bad day. There are two reactions to danger or the sense of danger: fight or flight most of the time I will fight. I'm in a state of eternal aggravation since childhood, I decided at very early age that when I got to be big and then an adult I wouldn't let people mess with me; you see the scourge of girls and women is that we are raised to be agreeable, all ladylike etc. this BS is getting us abused and killed.
So no, sorry but not sorry.