Before I go any further, I feel like I owe an explanation as to the origins of “BWAPE” (Let me help you never turn that into an acronym that people pronounce. GUASFCU (Georgetown University Whatever, Whatever Credit Union) doesn’t need any competition for “Most Awkward Non-Word Ever”.)
Unrelated, but my iTunes Library just went from “P.I.M.P.” to “Uptown Girl”. I do not understand, but I’ll embrace it.
I’m mainly giving my name explanation because of my beloved Doctor Daddy, who texted me today, saying, “Read first few lines of your Facebook post. Call as soon as you can.” After mentally kicking myself repeatedly for teaching my father about both texting AND Facebook, I called him back, assuming that it was about the blog. Turns out, my father both jumps to conclusions and cannot focus long enough to read a full sentence (I had to get it from somewhere), and he was ACTUALLY calling because “he was just checking his Facebook on the tractor and thought I was on crutches”. Brilliant. Yes, Daddy; though I have an orthopedic surgeon in the family, I’m going to attempt to hide a broken leg from you by posting about it as my Facebook status. Regardless, I got slightly nervous, as usage of “shut up” is banned for young ladies (me) in the Smith household (still, only me). The fact that I would publicly drop the B-bomb might react with the 65 years of built-up Conecuh sausage grease in his arteries. I do NOT want to be responsible for THAT.
In the “meta” sense, my name refers to the iconic Vermeer painting in my homepage background. For those of y’all who don’t intimately know me, art is one of my many vastly-unrelated passions in life. Alas, I have no interest in wearing black or quoting Sylvia Plath, so Vermeer’s Girl comes in as a double entendre! I am Southern, therefore I wear pearls every day. BAM. It’s as simple as that.
In using the word “bitch”, I am by no means self-deprecating. While I’m certainly Olympic Gold-grade in the category of Bitching and Otherwise Snarkily Observing Things, I don’t consider myself a “bitch” in a sense of degradation. I’ll prefer to think of it as self-empowering. As the dearly beloved, classy and overall me-like Kanye West observed on his Twitter last week, language is something that is perceived and changes through use and context.
Clearly, I wasn’t paraphrasing AT ALL.
Also, you’ve been witness to the first and last time I ever agree with Kanye West.
One day, someone will call my progeny an SOB, and they’ll say, “Duh. Thanks for noticing. Have you seen her other pearl earring, by the way?”
In the meantime, decorate your apartment with your very own embroidered Kanye West tweet-samplers, put Ibuprofen and water by your bed before you head over to Tombs, and keep your hearts light and minds clear.
Oh, and change into a different pair of Nike Tempo shorts. Let’s be real, you’re not wearing the same size you were sporting during JV field hockey. My sixth-grade science teacher would say they’re “too short, too tight, and therefore unacceptable”.
Bitch with a Pearl Earring 
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