Slutty von Slutwhore is lurking in the wings…

I’m not GONNA give my friends access to my dating apps so they can handle the correspondence and I won’t freeze up and feel like stress vomiting when I try talking to people I WANT to answer.

 

But I’ve definitely considered it.

 

I’m not sure what I’m scared of, exactly, but it’s definitely fear. Of WHAT, Brain? Effort? Failure? Success?

 

Christ. This is gonna be a LONG year in therapy. She’s already told me, “You can just DATE them, you don’t have to have sex with them,” and I…do not understand that boundary. I’ve waited too long — if a man touches me the right way, I’m-a fuck him. I won’t even WANT to, my body will just DO it, and then I’ll feel bad about it, and then we can talk about THAT in therapy. It’s the Circle of Slut Shame, Simba!

#ItsOKToBeAWhore

*blink*

Oh, OK.

Hey, y’all?

“It’s OK to be a whore.”

#ItsOKToBeAWhore

A plea for smarter sexism

Much like the people who make disgusting jokes about Chris Christie’s weight, we need to knock THIS shit right the hell off.

I’m not even following this clusterfuck election closely. But I know there are plenty of joke-WORTHY aspects of Hillary’s campaign without resorting to easy blowjob jokes from a nearly 20-year-old scandal during her HUSBAND’S administration. And I say this as a supporter of the easy blowjob joke. I just like the jokes to be, um…FUNNY.

How are we STILL slut-shaming a woman who made a bad call at age 22, or attacking Hillary for it, rather than placing the blame on Bill Clinton’s raggedy cheating ass? I know there was plenty of that at the time, and maybe there are Internet memes to that effect now. I just happened to see this today, and have seen others like it, and they flip my bitch switch.

Sure, Hillary’s potentially bringing that philandering fuck back to the White House with her, but what do I care where HIS cock has been if SHE’S President? If he’s off banging interns, that’s more time for her to get shit done without him trying to hillbilly-man-splain international affairs. (Because clearly he’s more concerned with domestic ones — HEY-O!)

I guess because none of these dipshits are going to fix ANYTHING, EVER, maybe it’s just all one big joke at this point. But damn…get better jokes.

P.S. Donald Drumpf is the exception. Please let us all continue joking about him. Hair. Voice. Delusion. Have at it.

Slut Shame and the Blame Game

I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I’ve wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y’all don’t think I’m above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.

Yeah… I can’t. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I’d been letting pass because they were “just little things” that made me go “Hmm…” But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn’t get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those “little things,” and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.

But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we’d at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?

Sound advice from a friend: “Don’t help them think only with their dicks until you’ve at least seen their face.”

On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male “feminist” bloviating that, “Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!” translates to, “I’m going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you’re sick, or busy, or clearly don’t want to.” I guess I’m only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?

But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I’m not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn’t — they’d be like, “GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!” My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though… [Ahem. Too dark?])

Anyway. I should’ve known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was “busy” on Thursday — busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.

It’s possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn’t be blaming myself for being “slutty” here. (“Well, yeah, I feel like he’s overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?”) And if I’m actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but…a little), I REALLY shouldn’t feel bad about either just saying “no” or blocking his number.

I’m probably not the only crazy person on OkCupid.

Oh, OK. So I can be messaging back and forth with a perfectly nice guy from OkCupid, and inadvertently say something that reminds me of my ex, then of That Guy, then back to my ex, and now I’m crying?

Sure, yeah — I am absolutely ready to be dating, even casually. It will not end badly at all. 

I understand this is how I move on, and I’m sure a time will come when it doesn’t feel like cheating, but…not so far. 

I could blame PMS, but I think I might just be ready to embrace my obvious destiny to die sexless and alone.

We’ll just add this to the therapy list. That woman is earning her money.

New Year, resolution

I guess once you’ve told someone, “You’re a coward, a liar, and an asshole, and I’m sorry I ever met you”…That’s probably closure, right? 

I couldn’t even cry, I was just so tired. I sent the email and then sat there like, “Huh. OK, so that’s that, then.” (I mean, I’m not thrilled, but…)

He responded implying I’m being petty, like, “I’ll refrain from name calling, but that’s wonderful, thanks” was part of it.

Umm…you’re welcome. And I dare you to call me any name I haven’t already called myself. 

Crazy slut? Pfft. I have that shit engraved in one of those nameplate necklaces. It’s on my resumé.

Clingy, desperate? I’ll own that. It wasn’t my finest behavior, but I learned from it.

Resentful? Bitter? Probably. But part of re-gutting myself was to get past this permanently. Plus it’s been so long that it’s hard to really resent some…ghost of a person you never really knew, who exists only in some hazy online ether now. It’d be like hating that money-grubbing Nigerian prince.

During our…whatever, I asked numerous times if he had the same feelings for me. I probably would’ve been able to infer he didn’t if he and I had a standard romantic relationship. But we’d started as friends and always agreed we wanted to stay friends. So my brain went blurry, because a friend would never knowingly let things happen the way they did — they would’ve leveled with me. (I’ve done it before. It sucked, but the friendship survived.) 

But I had to give up knowing; it was hurting me too much. So I went about assuming it was over, accepting that, and letting him be.

But then his blog likes, Facebook friend request, and LinkedIn profile checkup started grating on me, like, “OK, what are you doing?” Then came his invitation to discuss things he’d seen me writing about him here. So we discussed — argued, really, via email. But I got my answer: He never felt the same way, and finally told me directly.

SO. Not the answer I wanted, but an answer, one I knew was possible. It’s what I’d guessed, but was never 100% sure. I always told him I’d feel better if he just said it (he never would, either out of kindness or desire to keep me hooked), and I do feel better. Part of my mental reaction was, “THANK YOU. Christ, was that so hard?!” But it would’ve been easier, and we’d still be friends, if he’d said it sooner. 

I can’t know how the discussion affected him (I’d guess just relief I finally stopped talking). I’m…partly bummed I was so spectacularly wrong about truly knowing him, and honestly, that I’ll never get to have sex with him. (Don’t judge me — I REALLY wanted to. It would’ve been great, to the point that I probably still would if he tried, which is pretty fucked up so I’m happy it’s not an option.) But I’m also relieved I have my answer, and that I got to say what I needed to. (Sad truth? I still don’t entirely believe him. But I’ll get there.)

It sucks we imploded a friendship, because I really valued him that way more than romantically, but he acknowledged the friendship wasn’t much reciprocated, either. And the longer I was left wondering, realizing I’d started being hurt by our conversations more than I was enjoying them, that I’d ended up feeling dirty and used, and that he didn’t miss me even as a friend, the easier it was to let go of that as well. 

I realize it’s wrong that I’m aroused by this.

“And what happened then? Well, in Smugville they say, that her ladyboner for Larry Wilmore grew three sizes that day.”

Via The Mary Sue: Larry Wilmore Reminds College Bros That Sexual Assault Isn’t “Satire” on The Nightly Show