What's new pussy cat?

La La land has escaped me for the moment, and so I shall indulge in a moment of rage. Why must such a fiery little temper reside in such a normally cheerful and optimistic soul? I really am one of those people who is always seeing humor in something, laughing, making jokes (mostly at myself)- and then there are times when I can feel my face morphing into this lioness-head-like creature and I roar. Bipolar? Schizo? Freakazoid? (Gentlemen, don’t you dare suggest it’s just “that time of the month”…)

I wouldn’t say I’m a feminist – I’ve never really read up on any of the post-modern feminist movement, but something is just intrinsically wrong with how some people treat women. When I stand up and call BULLSHIT when people are spewing bullshit out of their mouth - there’s a hush in the crowd and I hear their thoughts…”Bitch”.

There’s such a dualistic maelstrom brewing in my psyche. Part of me is proud when I stand up for myself, when I roar my rebuttal and make grown men hang their head in shame and women retract their claws. But then there’s the other, slightly softer, maternal side that starts immediately formulating an apology for “upsetting” anyone.

One thing’s, for sure - I certainly wouldn’t want to be in an argument with me. I go for the jugular when some one tries to power-trip me. Roarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

OK, maybe I’m taking this dualistic nature a little too far. I think I just threatened myself?!

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