by Anna Shelftel Every once in a while, I get tired of being bitter.   Yes, it's true. That minuscule revelation would probably be a bit of a shocker to many of those who know me, because bitterness seems to be the utter core of my being. The very epitome and definition of that brown-haired, Polish-Jewish, Montreal-residing, Liberal Arts-studying, wisecrack-spewing creature known as "Anna".   But, that reaction is exactly what wears me out. Throughout those tumultuous formative years that I would pay big money to forget, I learned a very important lesson- people are painfully quick to label others. It takes such a great amount of effort to explore a person and see how wonderful and multi-faceted they really are, that everyone loves to just pick out their most obvious personality trait and stick with it. And, oh dear, they stick with it. They stick with it until they mysteriously get a heavy textbook to the head.   Yeah, so maybe it is easy to call me "bitter". I tell my friends in long-term relationships that they've crossed over to the dark side, I'm a smartass to my teachers, I take great pleasure from pointing out inanity and stupidity, and I'm renowned for organizing parties such as the "Bitter Bitches Valentine's". However, I still fail to understand how anyone could actually tack such a ridiculously one-dimensional personality onto someone. I'm not a character in a Disney movie, so I'm just slightly more complex than that, thank you very much.   Anyone that has taken the pains to get to know me well at all is aware of my non-bitter side. They've seen me write cheesy love poetry, giggle incessantly, fawn over cute and cuddly animals, cry during insipid movies, give ten minute hugs, and sprain my ankle running to catch the phone because it might just be my crush. That's as much a part of me as making fun of Alanis Morrisette is, but it seems that no one wants to make the effort to understand that. My outer shell, or whatever the pop psychologists would like to call it, is pretty damn threatening, and it never occurs to them that there might be just a little more there.   So what's my point with this little narcissistic exercise? It's a biggie. People have to stop being so fucking obsessed with classifications. The most irritatingly boring individuals that I have had the misfortune to meet were those that stuck themselves in a category and clung to it like a security blanket. I don't want anything to do with someone who's entire personality consists of being "cute" or "angry" or "smart" or "gay" or "a musician" or whatever. These may be a big part of someone, but they should never be their entirety. And, I don't want anyone to shove me or any other human being into one of those lame categories.   Just like how, on the larger scale of things, we acknowledge how wrong it is to stereotype people based on race, sex, religion, sexuality, etc, there is no justification for doing it in our personal lives. It leaves us just as empty and unenlightened. I get tired of being bitter, because I get tired of being pigeonholed. Every once in a while I feel like I should scrap it altogether, just to prove everyone wrong. I can't handle such a boring, unilineal existence.   In my brief time on this planet, I have been branded the "loud" one, the "quiet" one, the "nice" one, the "bitchy" one, the "smart" one, the "dumb" one, the "together" one, the "spazzy" one, the "weird" one, the "normal" one, and a whole slew of others. But, few have ever noticed that I consistently fit into all of these definitions, because they could only seem to process one at a time. I think I said it the best in an old journal entry while throwing a hissyfit on this very subject. My angry handwriting shrieked, "[I'd like to be seen] not as one dull, narrow stereotype, but as a thousand."