One of my best friends in college used to refer to me as Bossy the Cow. He said, still says, that I always try to get my way, that I don’t ask so much as order and that I’ll say things like, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” and “You’ll have a good time. You know you will.” in order to put a positive spin on whatever it is I want someone to do which back in college meant getting high: “It’s not addictive and you know lesbians have the best pot!”; visiting that clothing optional area of Lake Travis (Hippie Hollow): “We’ll keep our swimsuits on and laugh at all the naked people!”; or accompanying me on a summer long trek through Southern Europe: “One star hotels, Eurorail and sexy European men! C’mon, I know you’ll have fun!”

When I was a teacher I was Pol Pot of my classroom. I was the wise one, the Mexican Yoda with a ruler, Our Dear Leader, the “Listen here Tamika, if you say ‘fuck’ in my classroom once more, I’m going to call your mom and have you repeat the word on the phone. Oh, you live with your grandma? Well, I’m sure she wants to hear her beautiful little granddaughter say fuck out loud.”

I loved my students. And they loved me. No classroom is a democracy. Mine was a benevolent dictatorship like Singapore. You did your work, listened to me, participated in class and didn’t chew gum and we were fine. You broke the rules and hell hath no fury like a Virgo spic faggot scorned. “Wipe that little smirk off your face NOW!”

Now that I’m in Houston visiting my sister, she and my partner have taken to comparing notes, trading stories and giving each other advice on how to deal with my “bitchy little tirades.” At first I thought it was funny. But then I started to get annoyed. What did they know, after all.

Sure I can be a little demanding but it’s because I love and want what’s best for the people I love. I always plan ahead and have already weighed the pros and cons before I make a “suggestion” or “comment.”

Kermit the Frog once sang that “It’s not easy being green.” Well, it’s not easy being right all the time too. People often hate you for it. And it’s not like I’m dumb about it either. I never tell women my age or older women what to do–women tend to be smarter than men and no woman likes to be told what to do unless she’s role playing in bed.

Still, I’m going to try not to be so “damn controlling” all the time. My days of barking orders are over. Not really. But I’ll try not to say “I told you so” when my partner fucks up. And when my sister tells me about a new man in her life, I won’t repeat “He doesn’t even have a college degree and he has a fucking kid from when he was like what, 15? What would mom and dad think? Jesus, he’s loosing his fucking hair too. What are you, blind?”

You see? I only want what’s best.