There are 3 things that I know about myself: I am extremely stubborn, I make jokes about absolutely everything (Just ask my dead grandmother…relax, she honestly doesn’t mind) and I can easily become obsessed with something I truly like. And I’m talking like a decade-long fixation and not a passing fad. Can you guess what my latest compulsion is?? Swiping on a particular, popular dating app, and not just any ole’ swiping. Swiping left is the new petty. I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t even read the profiles and look at the rest of their pictures, I just fucking swipe. I obviously I have specific rules for swiping like if there’s a cat in the first picture I see of you, you are dismissed. If there’s a big ass fish being hung from some sort of line, you are dismissed. If your first picture is of you in a group of 20 deep, you are dismissed. I’m addicted to the rush of mass rejection. What is it about rejection that makes us feel (well, those of us that are dead inside…) so goddamn powerful. And before you shake your head in disbelief, ask yourself why the whole world is on so many dating apps…
A wise woman once said “Age ain’t nothing but a number”. True, age doesn’t necessarily define maturity. You can’t help but be attracted to who you’re attracted to; younger, older, skinny, fat. How many times have you seen someone’s great-grandfathers trying to pick up a barely legal tenderoni and no one says a word. I mean, it’s obviously as normal as sliced bread and it will continue on long after we’re all dead. But what happens when a woman tries to do the same? Well, obviously she must be shamed! How dare she take advantages of such a young man, she’s a woman for Christ’s sake. She’s suppose to be fucking nurturing and have no desire to sit on said young and able dick. Because let’s face it, we’re suppose to accept men as they are: saggy hairy balls, gross back hair, erectile dysfunction. But as women, we should keep it “tight and right” under the threat of being traded for a younger model. We are suppose to see past superficiality of a smooth and young body and go for someone “our own age”, whatever the fuck that means.Why does age affect the way we date, as women but not men’s. Obviously we can cite “Patriarchy” as the most obvious reason, but is there more than that…..
WARNING! Do not read this at work, or at the very least, don’t leave it up on your screen, because today we’re talking about one of my favorite subject: KINKS! OK, so if you were to look up the definition of kink; it pretty much refers to bizarre (YES!!!) and unconventional sexual preferences or behaviors (DOUBLE YES!!). Now I personally think that kinks are a normal part of sexuality. Everybody has something that they enjoy and that they feel somewhat ashamed for liking (that guilt…). Movies and TV shows have normalized “Vanilla Sex” because it looks pretty and obviously there are many things that you can’t show (unless you’re living in France…Lucky bastard/bitch). But through this conditioning, most people have now accepted that missionary and cowgirl are pretty much the positions that most people know and stick with. Which again is fine…well, not really but I mean people like what they like. But what happens when you’re someone with an insatiable appetite for weird, an open mind and willingness to try new things (Always try everything once…well, at least twice) and you are dating a “vanilla person”? How do you broach the subject of butt plugs with someone who things using lube is caused for alarm (yes, this is real story…it happened to a friend of a friend of mine…)? How to do you tell Vanilla that you like all the flavors and then some?
Can we be real with each other? What is it with guilt that drives people to recoil in the fetal position the minute they try to be a little more selfish? Can’t we put ourselves first? Men do it all the time (Penis firs though..) but as women we’re so constantly worried that people will see us as self-centered or acting in self-interest. We’re ready to prove them wrong even if it means that we’ll spend the next 30 years miserable, just so Mr. Smith and his dick can be happy…Is devotion really worth the mental anguish and the constant self-doubt?
The fear I’m feeling right now, is slightly paralyzing. I’ve been siting at this computer for over an hour, terrified of outing myself. Scared that the ones that were the closest to me had no idea at the time and still have no idea. I’ve carried this “thing” for almost 5 years now and the burden hasn’t gotten too heavy…yet! I’m outing myself today because after talking to someone close to me about the very subject, I found myself shocked that I didn’t see the signs, especially since I lived it. I hid the fact so well that no one knew that I was in abusive relationship for 5 years.
I know it’s been while since we’ve spoken, but I’ve been trying to enjoy my summer. It doesn’t mean the last few weeks have been drama free or scourge free (what can I say, mama is a magnet for bullshit these days). In all the ups and downs in the last few weeks, one constant has remained the same: Sex, or more so the lack of it. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know that I believe that everyone should be having sex. And not that mediocre, that last 5 minutes, shitty sex. I am talking about sweaty, orgasm-filled, liberating, wanting-to-tell-the-mailman great sex. Of course I know that one’s inhibitions can usually dictate how good or utterly wretched the sex will be. But what happens when you put your good intentions out there and you get basically nothing but a laugh from God and perhaps a new vibrator from a concerned friend (Hi AG)…
It’s 2 AM, I’m laying in bed thinking about my day and just thinking about the choices I made. Sometimes they’re great, others I can’t be bothered to think anything through because my impatient nature. As an adult, I’m just starting to realize that life is just a hand full of idealistic notions that we share among ourselves. It’s easier to live life, it seems by constantly lying through your teeth, lying to yourself and of course to those you love. Reality is often harsh and unkind so lying and making up stupid stories are usually needed to soften the blow. But how long can we continue to tell ourselves that everything is fine, while the world is burning down all around you… Will the lies ever really cover up the scars?