Inner Bitch

The other day, I unleashed the bitch.  I haven't allowed her out of the cage for about two years.  Last time I let her out to play, it was ugly!  Quite frankly, my inner bitch scared me, so she's been under very tight ropes and chains.

 

Now, for those of you who know me well, I'm sure you've heard me say I come from a long line of nasty bitches.  And I do.  Honest.  Have you ever seen a movie called "Throw Mama from the Train"?  It's old, probably from the 80's.  Anyway, the mama in this movie is the spitting image of my great grandmother, on my father's side - especially in physical appearance.  My first experience with a soul-deep, terrifying meanness was with her.  She often stayed with my grandmother as she was not very well, and grandma took care of her.  My sisters and I were young, and I do mean young!  I'm the middle sister and was about 3.  This old woman, who stayed in bed all day, was quite the curiosity to such young girls.  The three of us were peeking around the door frame at this grumpy pariah, when my younger sister decided to run into the room yelling "beep-beep-ba-bop-bop"!  Startled, my older sister and I pulled away from the doorway, and my little sister streaked past us like a bolt of lightning.  What she didn't bother to do was warn us the ancient lump in the bed could -- and was -- moving!  Throw Mama from the Train was suddenly filling the doorway, a red, plaid slipper in her hand.  She paddled our little backsides all the way to the entrance.  To clarify, it didn't hurt.  The all-encompassing fear is what I remember!  Our mother burst into laughter.  No doubt it looked hilarious!  We collapsed into terrified tears.  And Grandma?  Well Grandma, was angrier than a cat thrown in the sprinkler!  To this day, I get a jolt of fear when I hear intense displeasure in an old lady's voice!

 

Anyway, the rest of the women on both sides of the clan are of the passive-aggressive mean.  You know the sort -- snide comments, buried beneath a thin veil of humor, with the odd blunt flourish.  Which, by the way, I really do prefer blunt because I really hate wondering what the hell you really meant!  Now, that being said, I also possess a healthy dose of passive aggression, but I do try really hard not to let that bitch out.  However, the bitch I do let out on occasion is the border-line psychotic, overly blunt one.  She's the one who is so verbally aggressive -- although, rarely the one to pick the scrap -- people usually call the cops on her!

 

I'm full circle to the day I unleashed this nasty side of me.  We live near the hospital, and we all know hospitals never provide enough parking.  For any of their patrons. We constantly have battles with hospital workers who block driveways, crowd streets, park too close to corners, crosswalks, and fire hydrants.  All pretty major safety concerns.  Neighborhood children must be dangerously exposed before they can determine if it is okay to cross streets.  Same issue when driving -- it really is a crap shoot whether you'll make it safely into the roadway or be hit by a vehicle you were unable to see until it's too late.  And the fire hydrant.  I don't think I need to say more on that one.  So we jumped through all the City's hoops and brought up solid into a brick wall.  Same wall with Alberta Health Services,  only that wall is higher and thicker because NO government agency gives a shit about the little guy.

 

Frustration had been building up for weeks and months, along with a feeling of powerlessness that sinks anyone's ship.  I came home from work, to a hospital worker hogging the space in front of my home.  She'd been asked nicely to park elsewhere on another occasion.   I squeezed my car behind hers.  There was roughly one to two inches between my bumper and hers, and I wasn't blocking my neighbor's driveway -- a.k.a. parked legally.  I marched into my house and wrote a note that this was not a commercial parking lot, park at your place of employment. 

 

Unfortunately, I had just gotten comfortable in my deck chair when she finished her shift.  She put her kid in the car, then asked me why I parked so close to her.  Um, duh.  I live here.  She informed me she has the right to park wherever she wants to and I shouldn't park so close to her vehicle.  Really?  Well, I'm ashamed to say the reins on psycho bitch snapped.  I'm surprised the missus didn't hear them go!  I called her many unsavory names (compliments of working with rednecks for many years and a certain Newfie who taught me many more) with many of the options she could CHOOSE that homeowners cannot.  At which point she called me white trash, I called her something even worse and to keep her vehicle away from my property permanently. 

 

Well, I guess she forgot her big girl panties that day.  Or maybe this piece of white trash outsmarted her with unsavory words and a heavy dose of common sense!  Either way, an RCMP officer showed up at my door and was swiftly told to do something a little more useful with her time -- it was said a bit more politically correct than that, but you get the drift!

 

You know what I had forgotten?  It feels really good to let psycho-bitch off her leash!  She didn't scare me this time.  She wasn't all the way free of her chains, merely a snapping, snarling wild thing on the end of a rope.  And I think she made a very clear - albeit, rude - point.  After all, we homeowners have rights, too.  It felt great to fight back because I've been tolerant so long.

Lesson learned.  Let your inner bitch out and take her for a run once in a while.  You'll feel better when you're not just being a doormat for muddy shoes.  :)