bitch

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What names have you been called?

Published March 6, 2015 by Sandee

chupacabra

(“Señorita Chupacabra”)

My family didn’t give me a nickname (except my brother that one time), but during the years, people have called me names, and I didn’t mind being called these names — most of the time.

“You sword-chinned bitch!” is what my little ten year old brother yelled at me in 1973, during an argument. Much later, I mentioned that to people, and they fell down, laughing on the floor, so I used that name as my first blogger name. It was a tribute to my brother, sort of.

When my first nephew was born, I was so in love with him that my coworkers started calling me “Auntie Sandee.” Then my second nephew was born, cementing my identity as a spinster aunt – I mean, as an aunt. Some of you bloggers picked up on it and started calling me “Auntie Sandee,” too.

I had a Jimi Hendrix-type boyfriend who used to call me “Sandor,” “Sandor the Barbarian,” initially. This was back around 1981. And this sticks! My sister, seven year old nephew, and best friend still call me “Sandor.” Sometimes, my sister calls me “Sandwhore” — a twist on the old moniker! When my three year old nephew begins to grasp more language nuances, maybe he’ll call me “Sandor,” as well. He just only learned to say “Sandee,” without it sounding like “Dadee.”

The next three mean the same thing – they’re transient names, because different people have used these names to describe me throughout the years. The long and short of it – I suppose I’m out there — the names are, “kook,” “space cadet,” and “nutcase.” Now, mind you, the names were always used lovingly. But, if you were to insert the prefix, “you fucking,” obviously, it becomes something else.

The last two names, “La Sucia” y “Chupacabra,” were given to me by a Mexican friend. “La Sucia!” he’d scream upon seeing me. Actually, it was I who gave me the name while chatting with him once, and he just latched onto it. Was I dirty that day? I can’t remember. Well anyway, “Chupacabra” is a name that we called each other. I’d call him “Chupacabra” then he’d call me “Chupacabra”– “Hey Chupacabra!” – “What’s up Chupacabra!” The name belonged to both of us, except for the times that he called me “Señorita Chupacabra.” Unfortunately, I’m not so friendly with him anymore.

It’s fun learning people’s nicknames. Have any of you been called the names that I have been called? Have you called anyone else these names? What kinds of names have you all been called?

Get The Money First (fiction)

Published March 10, 2013 by Sandee

“You didn’t know?  You supposed to take the money, then have sex with him.”

“Yeah w-well, I, I asked him.  After.”

“And so — wait a minute — he said he’d give you half and then you’d have to give him a notarized I.O.U.?  Girrrrl…

“Noooo, he did not say he needed the I.O.U. to be notarized – just the plain I.O.U.  Would you leave me alone about this.  I messed up.  I know this.  I guess you should know all about the standards.  This was your career at one time, before you became, legitimate.”

“Yes, bitch, true.  At least could he fuck?”

I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.  Too embarrassing.

Boo hoo, you hurt my feelings!

Published February 20, 2013 by Sandee

Building

When I say a detached hello to people in my building, I’m simply practicing a neighborly vibe.  I think that some of the new, younger tenants think it’s annoying, because they don’t bother to say hello back.  Maybe they think I’m a pathetic lady trying to make friends.

I’ve been here 22 years and management has changed four times.  The apartments that aren’t rent stabilized or rent controlled are subjected to rent hikes based on the whim of the owners.

So new tenants, I understand your resentment and feeling of instability, especially when your rent goes up $300 after one year – ‘Oh for this dump!’ you think, as you probably qualify for better in your professional capacity.  You guys move in and out of here in the life span of cockroaches.

The solid tenants who have lumbered along in this ancient building for years are beneficiaries of rent stabilization or rent control, and I know them.  I have no idea who some of you newer ones are, but a couple of you are evil.

When you stare brazenly and don’t respond the few times I say ‘hello’ on different days — okay.  But when you fall with your garbage bag full of liquor bottles, and I’m ahead of you, turn around, see it’s you, and keep stepping, don’t mumble something that vaguely sounds like, ‘Thanks a lot for helping me’.

“What’d you say?  Fuck you.  You can’t say good morning, but expect me to help you?  Kiss my ass.”

You caught me on a bad day.  If you’d really hurt yourself, I would have helped.  I’m not a jerk.  You just became a convenient target for my anger that day.  I’ll practice self-control for the others.

There’s a four-eyed woman who rolled her eyes when I said hello.  Ouch!  But I should have taken that hint when we were in the laundry room.  I had the rare urge (You people don’t realize that I’m actually one of you.) to make small talk and you whipped around and snapped, “What!?”

That other one, who I stopped speaking to after no responses, looks at me expectantly, now that she has a new baby.  But, too late bitch – you don’t exist to me anymore.

See, I had a talk with myself to remind myself that I need to respect you all and your wishes not to speak to me, and that I shouldn’t take it personally.  While I’ll still hold the elevator door open for all of you, you are now, henceforth, nonentities.

 

That Bitch Sandy and A Broken Ring

Published January 23, 2013 by Sandee

I love fellow blogger Claire Cappetta’s playful comments on my blog.  I admire the way she weathered that bitch Sandy – pun totally intended.  She was in the midst, filming as it happened – wow!

http://clairecappetta.wordpress.com/2012/11/15/my-video-view-of-sandy-before-it-hit/

While she experienced her own trial, she became part of a community spirit with those in her area helping others in need.  Inspirational indeed.

http://clairecappetta.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/hurricane-sandy-new-friendships-and-a-new-surreal-world/

I enjoyed her book A Broken Ring.  It’s about a woman’s self-discovery during a series of abusive relationships, something that a lot of people can relate to.  Her character comes out in the end with a sense of empowerment.

A Broken Ring

Not surprising that someone with the fortitude to help others throughout her own challenge could create a story encompassing a journey leading to self-recognition and strength.  I advise you to check it out.  It’s an engaging read.

Claire is also an activist, helping to raise awareness about domestic abuse – boy I tell you – she’s someone to be admired!

Glad to be part of your blogging community Claire!

Beast

Published November 19, 2012 by Sandee

Calling someone a beast might feel good in a cheap way, but it’s really imprisoning. Maybe one of the bloggers said that anger was like bondage.  It is.  I’ve been lashing out when I need to be paying more attention to why and what’s going on exactly with me.  I do know what’s going on to an extent but I have to be careful not to look for targets, people who may be obnoxious or intrusive who can conveniently be used as a focus for anger that I have about my own situation.

Yes I called a woman a beast today, and a few days ago I called another woman a fucking asshole.  I don’t yell or scream.  I just say these things matter-of-factly.  And I’m embarrassed to say there have been a couple of other things.  My friend and mentor today told me that I have a controlling personality and that this is why I lashed out and called this woman a beast.  I didn’t approve of her behavior and felt that I had to let her know exactly this.

But I suffer from the who-little-‘ol-me syndrome, maybe.  I never thought I was controlling or even bitchy.  So I never set out to change behavior that might contribute to this because honestly I didn’t know.  I’m trying.  I don’t want to behave this way.  I want to change.

I need to find a new job.  I don’t have medical insurance anymore.  I want to sell more books.  I ain’t getting any younger and I never found a soul mate.  I’m afraid I’ll be homeless and I’m afraid I’ll get sick and have no money.  My job ends in December so the fears ebb and flow.

Forget about today – there’s tomorrow.  I’m grateful I’m not depressed and that I can enjoy my life.  But I’d better be careful.  I live in New York City and I’m not a large person.  My friend reminds me that lashing out at people here can be Russian Roulette.

Two words: hanta virus

Published October 18, 2012 by Sandee

I’ve scheduled my reading for 10/27, 10:30pm at the Indian Road Café.  I’ll read for half an hour.  Afterward they’re screening Night of the Living Dead.  That’s crazy because I had no idea they’d be showing this movie and it’s one of my favorites – I know the whole script.  Two great lines from it:

“They’re coming to get you Bar-ba-ra.”

“Yeah they’re dead…they’re…all messed up”

I’d like to write a treatise on this movie.  It’s been done.  They make it a metaphor for the times in 1968.  The zombies are the encroaching threat to the establishment.  They represent black people too, I think I’ve heard.  George Romero used a black protagonist which was progressive, but then again, he doesn’t survive, AND his plan for keeping everyone safe — as the alpha male in the bunch — failed.  Womp womp oh well.

Since I’m on zombies – anybody ever see Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things? One of the reasons I love Fright Night is because the kid in the movie watches it on TV, the part where Orville is reanimated and goes after the leader of the theater group. This movie has a cult following so I feel cool because I knew it when.

My horror story in my book, Mean-Spirited Tales doesn’t have zombies.  I may have a friend read one of the stories. I’m going to miss Bob being at the reading.  I’ve been to the Indian Road Café a few times to eat and Bob would be there.  He was retired so I think he went everyday for lunch.  “There goes that Sword-Chinned Bitch,” he’d snarl. I was thrilled the first time he said it because I fantasize about walking down the street with people whispering “Hey, there’s the Sword-Chinned Bitch” — hehe.  So Bob helped me realize my fantasy.  After I got my hair butchered by the salon, Bob sees me and says, “So the flat-headed Sword Chinned Bee-itch is here.”  He made bitch two syllables.

When I went to the café to speak with the owner about my reading, I hear behind me, “I know I’ll be there to see the Sword-Chinned Bitch.”  It was Bob.  He bought my book and read my blog.  I wrote about my love affair with a mouse in my apartment on my blog.  He commented:  “Two words:  hanta virus.”  Ahahaha!

If no one else comes to my reading Bob will be there and perhaps with his lover, I used to say.  Bob passed away of a heart attack a week after I saw him at the café.  He was both wicked and very kind.  When I spoke to him last, he talked about having a good life and being fortunate.  I was fortunate to know Bob.  He was one of those blessings that we get in the minute of the day.

My pissed off nine year old little brother gave me this name

Published August 29, 2012 by Sandee

Scroll back to 1973

Me:  Get outta here!

Little Brother:  I can stay in here!

Me:  Stu-pid!

Little Brother:  Fuck you!  Sword-Chin Bitch!

Fast forward to 1989, walking down 9th Avenue, Manhattan.  I tell my boyfriend the tale. 

“I used to be skinny with a sharp chin.  So my brother — we had a fight.  He calls me a Sword-Chin Bitch.”

“Sword-Chin Bitch?!”  Boyfriend spits pipe out. Stops walking, bends over, holds belly.  Breathless with laughter, he wipes tears from eyes.

1991, hanging with my good friend B.  To break the monotony of post coital cigarette smoking I recount the story.

“And do you know what he called me?”

“Nah baby what he call you?”

“A Sword-Chin Bitch.”

“A sword-chin who!?  Yo that ma’fucker’s funny as hell.”

Laughter ensues for five minutes.

Years later, old as shit, I come up with the idea of marketing my homemade book.

Ah, lets see, my sister says I need a blog.  She says I need to get on that gaddam facebook, and I need a catch.

Got it — I’ll name my book Why Did You Try to Fuck Somebody You Hate, and Other Mean-Spirited Tales, Told by a Sword-Chin Bitch.  It’ll be like, like — Monty Python!

B. thought Sword-Chin Bitch was hilarious – my ex thought so too.  And I’d be giving my brother a shout out.

But I can’t say Sword-Chin – it ain’t grammatically correct.  Gotta hyphenate, make it Chinned.  I’m selling a book.  It gotta be right.

Responding to the prompt for a handle on Word Press, Sword-Chinned Bitch, no-brainer.

Months later, thwarted by my own guerilla marketing ploy with that long ass book title, I change it to Mean-Spirited Tales, but keep the Sword-Chinned Bitch handle, to the dismay of a few.

Dear Readers,

Now you see the origin of my name.  I’m the antithesis of a bitch and strive to be evolved when confronted by bitches.  My handle doesn’t mean that I endorse bitches, beeotches, or sons of bitches.  Some were put off by my Sword-Chinned Bitch head appearing in their posts.  I don’t know, should I follow her back?  She might be mean, you said.  But I assure you that I am kind, loving, and do not consider bitchiness an attribute.

God bless you.

Yours truly,

Sword-Chinned Bitch