I’ve gotten plenty of insults over the years. Usually, no one has the ingenuity to come up with anything more original than “bitch.” Sure, it’s accurate, but I could go for a little spice. If I’m lucky, someone will attach an interesting qualifier to the kind of bitch I am: raging, self-righteous, heartless. Not surprisingly, most of these insults come at me when I reject some man. Apparently, not being into everyone who’s into me makes me a bitch. Who knew? Most of the insults roll right off. I’m not an idiot, I know they’re essentially trying to make me feel bad about refusing to sleep with them. I just wish they could come up with something new and original. As luck would have it, I have one bright and shining insult that has stayed close to my heart ever since it was issued, years ago: Sanctimonious Ice Queen. Excuse me, but has anyone ever been better insulted? The Sharktender tossed that at me some time when he wasn’t even trying to be hurtful. I think he was using it as some kind of rationale for why it took so long for me to hook up with him when it was already clear that I wanted to do. Sanctimonious Ice Queen—how perfect is that? I keep that one tucked close to my heart as a constant reminder of just how special I am. I’m not your run-of-the-mill, frosty bitch, I am an Ice Queen. It keeps me going in the hardest of times.
That said, while I can play cool, I’m not so great at keeping my cool. Case in point: after I lost my virginity. The guy never called me and really, I didn’t want him to. He was no stand-up guy looking to respect a young, innocent girl. Give or take. And yet, I found myself yearning for him to call me, text me, send me a message online—something. He never did get my phone number, so most of those options were out. Somehow, I got hold of his number and in a haze of desperation, called him. I asked a barrage of questions that he obviously failed to satisfy. Sure, he liked me. Sure, he wanted to see me again. He must have lost my number or something, so I prepped myself to send him a message online. Did I find the perfect time and place to compose my totally nonchalant “Can we just have sex, no strings?” e-mail? No. I obsessed over it and sent the damn thing (to which he shockingly never responded) while at a friend’s apartment, whining about it the whole way through.
Apparently my friend’s roommate had just gotten out of a bad relationship and bought into my cavalier act. He thought a casual situation was great approach and applauded me for it. Clearly, he had no idea that girls just sometimes go crazy and attempt the sex-only Hail Mary play. We usually think we can sex a man into a relationship. A stupid move, but sex is the only bargaining chip we always know we have.
So, I don’t know, I go off on some ranting tangent about boys, sex, and relationships and the Roommate sidles over to the abandoned computer and starts tooling around. After a minute he gets up and tells me to check my online profile. Uhh, okay. I took a seat at the computer and see a friend request from him. I accept. It was a little weird, but whatever. Once I get up, the Roommate sits back down to the computer. He types some stuff, then looks at me, making a face that suggested I go back on.