STEPH DEROSA: BITCH >>>

I was in Austin. I was at SXSW.

You know it, you've read it, you might even be sick of hearing about it. I don't know if you really are sick of hearing about it, but I do, actually, somewhat care how you feel. And the last thing I would want to do is lose any of my five readers.

So, while I  was in Austin, I took the time to squat in the bathroom of Jaime's Spanish Village. I loved this potty for the simple fact that you could voice your inner graffiti-ness however you liked, thanks to the handy dandy chalkboard they provided.

Being legally permitted to write whatever the I wanted on a bathroom wall, reminded me of something I strongly support: individualism and being true to you. You are entitled to say what you want to say, feel how you want to feel, and do what you want to do. I truly believe this, except I do have one condition: as long as it's not physically hurting anyone, not insulting anyone, and as long as it's legal.

While I was standing in line at the airport to have my bags checked on my way to Austin, I waited patiently and observed. I observed that one line was maybe moving quicker than another, or that one line was clogged with international flyers emptying their suitcases in order to meet the 50-pound weight limit. I noticed my line was not moving very quickly and that I had the option to either A.) Wait it out in this line or B.) Move to another line. I decided to move. Not always a smart choice, but it did pay off for me seeing as how I quickly moved up and was finally ready to check my baggage.

In the line next to me stood a middle-age woman who was also ready to have her bags checked. As the very pleasant airline employee was about to take my information, the middle-age woman in the next line began to create a scene. She let the entire airport know that she had been waiting the longest and that someone needed to help her¬" and not me. Wait, what? Lady, you're crazy. I very easily could've busted out some attitude back at her, but seeing as how they frown upon violence at an airport, I decided to keep my cool. Besides, she had the same options to move lines as I did; yet she just happened to choose the shittier one. It was her fault.

Then she says it¬" her excuse as to why she's a raging bitch¬" she actually says: Sorry, I can't help it, I'm from New York.Ah, yes, now it makes sense. It's a horrible thing to stereotype, but hey¬" if you're going to call it, I'll play along. Yes, you're a bitch, you fucking Yankee. Being raised in Texas, we're bred to have very narrow-minded thoughts about Northerners. Generally, they're all called Yankees,and we hate them all.

Since I did eventually escape the polluted Texas education system at the age of 26, I've had 10 years to decompress. I've realized the stupidity, the arrogance, the racism, and the generalizations Texans raise their children with. I believe it's actually made me a more accepting person. And made me less likely to judge people based solely on their appearance, what they do for a living, where they are from, or how they talk. Although, just as the lady used them from New York excuse, I can admittedly say that I still have that Texas girl's attitude that makes my mouth cause trouble quite often.

Now let's say I have a job. Let's pretend someone hired me to write. Pretend my job is to voice my opinion, thoughts, daily actions, or any weird shit that happened to run through my tiny brain that day. That's my job, that's what I do.

You may not like me, and you may not like what I have to say¬" but as my friend KAke would say:Look, here's the deal¬" you don't have to read it. The glorious thing is that you have a choice. It's OK to have an opinion, and it's OK not to like me, but you don't have to lash insults. That just shows me that you are ignorant. You know what the smart thing would be to do? Look up at the top right corner of your screen. There's a little red X in a box. Click it.