Bitch. According to any reputable dictionary, it’s the English word for female dog.  In popular culture, it’s taken on an entirely different meaning – bitch = woman. In earlier use, a bitch was a woman who needed an attitude adjustment. Now, depending on the tone, context or adjective placed in front of it, it can be a term of endearment just as much as it can be an insult. I won’t deny that I sometimes jokingly call my close girl friends “bitch” but it’s hit me that I really shouldn’t do that. The word, no matter how we twist it, is a derogatory term. It isn’t endearing, it isn’t cute and it really shouldn’t be funny. Bitch implies that women are animals, to be trained to follow simple commands and kept on a leash til the owner feels otherwise. But as far as I know, unless she was raised by savages or was forced into a very abusive situation, no woman shits in the yard, sleeps in a kennel or feasts on Kibble and Bits for dinner. Women are not pets, but that’s what calling them “bitch” suggests.

I have a ton of little pet peeves. A lot of them come out of social interaction, or more accurately, people’s inability to interact with others properly. There are people out there with no understanding of common courtesy whatsoever. It drives me crazy; crazy enough to want to pack my bags, and head for the hills.

When MSN instant messaging first came out and all my friends signed up, my parents answered my pathetic pleas with a stern “NO!” I pouted for days as my social status plummeted to absolute zero. For weeks, when the phone rang, I still jumped up like I used to, expecting it to be for me. It rarely was. No one made phone calls anymore; MSN served as the major mode of communication. It wasn’t long before My Space overtook MSN and again I took my pleading eyes to my parents. What led me to believe that the answer would be a smile and a nod, I will never know. So once again, I found myself on the social fringe, begging my friends to let me in on the secret of this awe-inspiring social media, and allow me to live vicariously through their profiles. But like all social trends, MySpace had its moment and then the newest fashion overtook it. Facebook arrived. I didn’t even bother to beg my parents this time. I would not be accused of insanity. Instead, I adopted a new mantra “If you can’t join them, hate them mercilessly.” I became the anti-Facebook queen, and all through high school I laughed at all those people who lived their lives behind their computer screens, updating, and scrolling, creeping and stalking.