Smart Sentimental Bitch

How do you respond to the question, "Who are you?"
You have a name, but that's not really responsive. Most people I ask to tell me about themselves, respond with what they do for a living. "I'm a florist."
No insight there.
Years ago when I had patience, I worked as a professional trainer. Full of technical skill, my boss, an unattractive, jargon-spouting, relentless corporate climber, thought me in some need of andragogy.
Don't worry. I didn't know what it was, either.
Off to Cal State LA, in East Los Angeles where the parking lot was filled with low riders and Chollos, to master the art of adult learning processes. After eight weeks, my evaluation revealed that I instructed with a "come hither" stance. Coupled with arms crossed, I sent a mixed message that may interfere with adult learning.
Jesus tapdancing Christ.
Back to work with this invaluable insight, I took a barrage of tests (a banned word) that would reveal, not only my teaching style, but how I would interact with my boss, my peers and my students, our raison d'etre. Some of these evaluations were prepared for screening potential submarine personnel, some were the result of some shrink's research with the premise that there are 'four kinds of people,' or 'four kinds of management styles,' or 'four ways to interact.' Basically, it boiled down to leaders, followers, get-alongers and data gatherers. You could just ask me. I'd tell you. But, no.
Test result after test result, I was a leader (I had just been an Operations Manager, so that was no big surprise) and a data gatherer (I was also a Math and Philosophy major. Again, no big surprise.).
When you combine those two predispositions toward behavior, the result is a Nazi Bitch. If there is very little measurable get-alonger in the profile, the result is Nazi Bitch from Hell.
I was usually Nazi Bitch from Hell.
That is insightful, but only as to my predictable behavior in a room full of bankers.
Yesterday, I took a long walk with my friend Margaret. She was my first friend in Astoria - a local girl who is about as far from a banker as one can be. She has a Master's degree in Fine Arts and raised two boys completely on her own. She's a fiber artist (weaver), and is also hightailing out of town to find more stimuli. We were walking arm-in-arm down the riverwalk, and she noted, with a complete lack of malice, that I was a bitch. Smiling, she added, "like me."
Okay. Margaret's lazer-like insight is certainly more reliable to me than those 'there's four kinds of people' tests, so that settles it. One part of the answer to 'who am I?' is a bitch.
But what kind of bitch?
My brainiac friend Babette once told a co-worker friend of mine that she thought I was smart. That co-worker friend repeated that malicious gossip to me.
Bitch.
So, applying Aristotelian logic to that premise, Babs is smart, Babs thinks I'm smart, therefore, I'm smart. That empirically settles it.
Smart bitch.
There's one more thing. I'm hopelessly sentimental. I love my friends and the less psychotic members of my family very deeply. I love buddying around. I worry whether my loved ones are okay, am crushed if I think they're hurting, try to add something to their lives and hope they love me back. That's true because I know it is.
So, I'm a sentimental, smart bitch.
Thanks for asking.
And you?