i am not bound to please thee with my answers.

I discovered something about myself as of late.

I am a bitch.

And to that, I say? Finally. (exhales)

Because, honestly?

I never wanted to be Cinderella. Or Snow White. Or [insert Disney Princess here], but have, for two decades, been diabolically hindered by my innate attributes which (painfully) lend themselves to the angelic.

Though I am not so blinded by this too-tight-halo to ascribe my virtuous characteristics to strength of moral character, rather, I know I am sugar (not spice), and everything nice, because of my pervasive possession of one: guilty. fucking. conscience.

I take comfort in the thought that perhaps I am cripplingly guilt-ridden for, well, nothing. and everything. Because I was surely a badass motherfucker, on par with one Vincent Vega, in another life, and am still repenting latent immorality.

It’s the only explanation. Obviously.

My penchant for villain worship (Ariel? No. Ursula? hell. yes.), empathy for history’s antagonists (Anne Boleyn? yes please), and, really, even my lifelong NEED to be a brunette (they have all the naughty fun) make much more sense when viewed through the kaleidoscope of a sinful reincarnation.

Regardless of the origins of my self-flagellation, my sudden- and definite- refusal to exist in a state of guilt-ridden suspension has entirely freed me to embrace my inner bitch. And augment myself to auburn (which is an argument of chicken and the egg style proportions- one will never know if it was the conquering attitude or the flame-hued locks that came first. My vote goes to the hair).

So while I would never deign to make resolutions for the new year- I can without a doubt say:

Twenty ten: something wicked this way comes.

Job of the day: Dominatrix, naturally.


~ by rubylocks on January 14, 2010.

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