“I’m a YUPpie,” goes the old joke, “You know, a Young, Upwardly-Mobile Professional.”
“We’re DINKS,” comes a reply, “You know, Double Income, No Kids.”
[in one version, the third response is "WIFE", but my favorite is]
“Me, I’m a BITCH.” Jaws drop. People stare, drinks raised halfway to their lips. She smiles naughtily and purrs, “You know, a Babe I n Total Control of Herself!”

(the videos that follow are simply mood music—easier to find & embed than mp3s)

My love affair with this word started in high school with Meredith Brooks, who told me that bitch was one of the many things that I was (daughter, student, bitch…) Around this time, I discovered angry feminist rock (although I didn’t know that’s what it was) and started hiding it from my parents.

There’s something buried in these songs, in this word, that speaks to my inner bitch. Screams at her, wakes her up, and lets her out. On days that I’m feeling too meek and mild, I listen to some bitch to remind myself of the vicious dog within.

Aside from the swearing, which I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of, there was something deeper in these songs that some part of me knew wasn’t “acceptable” for the kind of person they wanted me to be. Republica says it: “I want everything. I want…to be who I want to be. I want the best of both worlds.” It’s a sentiment that I didn’t think was acceptable (for anyone, not just for me) but one that I really wanted.

With these wonderful bitches showing me what was possible, I thickened my skin, straightened my spine, and bared my teeth. I learned that the reason that they were angry and I wasn’t was that I hadn’t been paying attention. My [figurative] sisters were beaten, denigrated, unlistened to, and pushed to the edges. But some of us were standing up—and I wanted to be one of them.

[Paid My Dues, Anastacia]

In college, “bitch” was “sister” to my friends, a secret password among strong, educated women. A club handshake for those in the know. It was a complement, an acknowledgement that “lady” was a poor goal and that the establishment needed someone to upset it. Perhaps a bunch of someones. We weren’t always strong, but we held each other up. We were a pack & we defended our own.

When I met my husband’s step-mother, I met my first alpha bitch. I’d met alpha males before—the kind of person you want to lead your pack, the kind of person you want to follow into battle (even if there are none to fight). I hadn’t realized that alpha bitches existed. I hadn’t realized that I was one. She and I occasionally snarl at each other, occasionally pace around warily before lunging at the jugular; but for the most part, we submit to each other in our areas—she’s alpha bitch in her home and I in mine.

Just like “fuck” in the video previously linked to (in the comments), bitch is a versatile word. I am a bitch, I have been a bitch, I’ve been someone’s bitch, I’ve had bitches, I’ve bitch-slapped, I’ve bitched, I’ve flipped a bitch, I’ve been bitchy, I’ve never sat bitch (to my recollection), and I’ve hung out with my bitches. I’ve called people “bitch” meaning a compliment, I’ve called people “bitch” meaning an epithet. I’ve screamed “BITCH!” at the screen while playing video games (for some reason, it’s my cuss of choice for playing video games). I’ve resolved, with other bitches, to end every sentence with “bitches!”. As in, “I’m tired, bitches!” or, “Let’s go bowling, bitches!”

I like that “bitch” is being reclaimed (like “gay” and “witch”). It’s a magazine, a diet, an awesome blogger, and a knitting club. It’s a word I claim as a title and as an aspiration. I’d like it on a t-shirt (not sure if I could wear it to school, but damn, I’d try!) because I think it’s something that everyone should know. It’s like being a feminist—this is what a bitch looks like. I’m a bitch & I’m proud of it. I’m a bitch, you got something to say to me? Because my teeth are sharp and your neck looks tasty.

[Love Me or Hate Me, Lady Sovereign]