The Baddest Bitch
I was in my early twenties when MySpace was the new craze. I know this because only a naive, early twenty-something year old like myself would make her headline, “The bitch you love to hate.” Fuck outta here! This is especially hilarious to me now because I know I much rather be, “The sweetheart you love to love.” But as mentioned in this previous blog, I used to be one of those girls. I used to want to be a “bad bitch.”
What exactly is a bad bitch? To my 22 year old self, it was Heidi Fleiss. It was Trina. It was Tera Patrick, and Karrine Steffans. It was a woman who handled her business and never caught feelings. She could have sex with no strings attached, didn’t give a fuck about what other people thought of her, and never had to buy her own shit ‘cuz there was always some sucker out there more than willing to buy it for her. She was a hustler. She pushed weight. She was a stripper with no umbrella. Shit, she could’ve even been a “high-class escort”. She was an unapologetic homewreckin, gold-diggin, BITCH.
A “bad bitch” was everything I wasn’t.
And then I met a stripper whose dad was a nurse and mother was a doctor. She didn’t need the money, she needed the false sense of power because her uncle molested her as a child. Then, I read in Tera Patrick’s own memoirs that her husband basically exchanged their wedding vows for a life in porn. Trina fell in love with Lil’ Wayne. I caught Heidi Fleiss on an episode of Celebrity Rehab, and Superhead is super fucked up in the head!
Obviously my mind wasn’t right either if Heidi Fleiss was my idol, and I envied Karrine Steffans.
I care what people think, especially when it’s not true. I’m bad at dating and even worse at having booty-calls. I believe in happily ever afters, and could never knowingly homewreck. I’m the girl who’ll pay $20 for a cigar on the beach in Cabo when my girl only paid $5. I’m self and body-conscious. I can’t even walk up and talk to a handsome man, what more give a disgusting one a lapdance. Holding someones hand is a BIG DEAL to me. I always say please, and thank-you. I still sleep with a teddy-bear, and turn off all the lights in the hotel room so that I don’t waste electricity. And I’ll definitely catch feelings before I ever catch any fish.
I couldn’t be my delusional interpretation of a bad-bitch even if I had tried. And trust me, I tried. I’m no girl next door, but I’m definitely not the bitch down the street. I’m just a nice girl, with some nice dreams. And I think that’s what makes me one bad bitch.