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This story is true. All names and Id’s have been altered. The story is, however, quite quite accurate.

It involves my very real experience with an online competitor known as Lizspicy. Before I get into it, I should give a little background about myself. In real life, I am 34, divorced, a lawyer in Texas, and someone that if you met on the street or in our corporate offices, would give no indication of this double life. I am always impeccably and conservatively dressed. My hair is just shoulder length and of an ash blonde that I maintain with biweekly trips to the salon. This is a sensitive secret that is betrayed by other hair color contrasts evident when I am undressed. My makeup is always tastefully applied and understated. I am ever the professional, though I know there is a great deal of sexual speculation about me based on my very voluptuous and busty build. I am uncomfortable with that and in an effort to quell it, downplay my figure with wardrobe, and maintain an icy, if not “bitchy” demeanor. This terrifies my counterparts and has most hating me even if they stare or comment behind my back.

I don’t want to make myself sound too horrid. These measures are simply defensive measures, and I do not want to imply that men are the most profound offenders. The truth is that when it comes to cruelty, and vindictiveness women are far more talented at taking each other down socially that any man could imagine. So that brings us to my current situation.

I was at home one evening with my feet propped on the coffee table, the laptop, where one would expect it by its title, and an old movie on the TV. I was bored, terrifically so.

I habitually work long hours and had been spending more of my leisure time pursuing the new horizons of instant messaging and chat. I found it fascinating, the variety of interests openly proclaimed and the virtually unfiltered natures of those “personalities” that could be encountered. On that evening, I came upon the very large interest group related to combative and competitive women. While it was very apparent that some were poor charades by men, some were clearly women like myself. Now I am extremely competitive, and often find myself argumentatively engaged with people, especially other women, and before I know it a situation has escalated to a cut-throat match-up.

I had added my yahoo ID to a group featuring “fit executive women”, “women in Mensa”, and one involving “combative women”, specifically women who wrestle each other. I was particularly intrigued by the intensity of the emotion communicated by these groups. I was in the process of browsing a couple of these when a conversation window popped up with an invitation from what turned out to be a very aggressive Asian woman who lived in the Florida Keys. Her opening remarks were rude and challenging. She also had a real issue with blondes. I bantered with her and amused myself with working her into a frenzy before “ignoring” her.

It was great. Online you could say whatever you chose, what you really thought, what you really wanted to say in the real world, but never could, at say, the office. In short, one could be brassy, sassy, bold, boastful, and a complete bitch. I loved it immediately!

It was about a week later, when I was on again, that another conversation box popped up with the invitation to chat. Her name was Lizspicy. I quickly scanned her profile to see if I even wanted to reply. Almost within seconds I knew I would. The picture showed a pretty, but hostile-looking Latin woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She had opened with a comment that almost literally steamed.

It said, “You look like just the perfect patrician type!”

Initially I liked her spunkiness in spite of the fact that I did think her a tad rude. We talked about alma maters, personal preferences, and general matters of style, professions, and then she brought it up. Her first comment had to do with something she had read about a little known statistic in Cosmopolitan saying most women born blonde were ultimately brunettes. She added that in her experience, from seeing a lot of “blondes” changing, she found it to be true. She finished by voicing her incredulity about why any woman would want to fake that.

I let it go.

Then she offered another comment about the effects of hair dye on cells in the body. “Perhaps”, she offered, “that explained the devastating effect on a blonde’s intellect.”

Now I am sharp, and part Italian, AND a Leo, and that comment was just too much to tolerate. “Well maybe,” I countered, “the loss of a few brain cells was a small price to play to avoid looking mousy and ordinary, and besides, in my case it still leaves a large enough margin of IQ to out think any brunette.”

There was a pause. The response was hot even without the use of capitol letters. “I knew a blonde Leo once,” she wrote. “Roared like a lioness, but was really just a squalling little pussy…cat when push came to shove.”

I was boiling! This bitch had gone way over the line. “Well honey,” I wrote, “ this lioness has both claws and fangs…speaking astrologically, what the hell are you?”

“Mom of two, happily married, health care professional, Cuban-American, college graduate, member of Mensa, and…. a Scorpio.”

“You left out victim of blonde envy.”

There was a pause.

“I guess push is pretty much coming to shove, then.” She wrote.

“Anytime.” I fired back.
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