It takes a lot out of me to pay too much attention to people being terrible and angry, but based on the high-level information I’ve seen, this kid is garbage human. I hope he gets his first STD very soon, and that it’s one of the suuuper itchy ones.
Text from a friend about a man who’d wronged her: “Motherfucker ALWAYS manages to pop back into my life somehow JUST when I’ve let my guard down. Seriously, it’s almost impressive. He’s like the herpes of people.”
I have dates. Two dates, with two different guys. Dates I probably won’t end up canceling when I find out the guy has an STD or wants to take out his fake teeth before he goes down on me.
As I told Therapist and my friends, I understand this is a good thing. Aside from just testing my capability for interaction on a date, the last person I kissed was during The Year of Poor Life Choices (2013), so it’s been FAR too long. Therapist tells me if I end up kissing one of these dudes, that may be good, because maybe I’ll no longer be giving Bad-Life-Choice Guy mental significance as “the last person I kissed.”
But Jesus Christ… DATES…Plural…
You can die of anxiety, right? ‘Cause I’m going to. Just so you know. Kissing won’t be an issue if I have a heart attack. Hopefully the kissing will come first.
If I die, it’s been a pleasure writing silliness for you all.
So today I did the annual gyno exam, which is generally annoying as fuck. I really don’t appreciate anyone touching my vagina if it doesn’t end in orgasm.
Got put on a birth control pill so I can be a fatter, moodier, assholier asshole. (“What’s the Lamictal for?” “It’s for Crazy, so make sure I get Pill Lite so we don’t make that worse.”)
Then went downstairs in the same building to an on-site lab — SUPER convenient, but the lab is more free about being part of a Jesus-y hospital system. So there are crosses on the walls, presumably so I can pray to Jesus to forgive me for fucking, and also pray while the lady jacks four vials of my blood to make sure my vagina doesn’t have any biblical plagues.
This better be the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.
The bitch of it? He’s starting to annoy me so I don’t think that’s even going to happen. But these are all good things to have done in general.
Still, fuck everything. I am dizzy, and getting tacos on my way home. Hmph.
Sage advice from a friend on the STI front: “You’re already going into this with your eyes open; now it’s just if your legs are open, too.”
I told the guy I couldn’t meet him until I got tested, with a remarkable number of apologetic qualifiers for telling a man that sex with him may not be worth the risk of going the rest of my life with a disclaimer on my vagina. (“Not a big deal” depends who you ask. I will ask a doctor and go from there.)
I said if he didn’t want to meet me, I’d understand, but he said HE understood and would meet me when I was ready. Later, he called me sexy, smart, and quick, so you can see why I’m trying so hard to ride this particular unicorn.
He’s actually so good on paper that I’m worried it’s a trap. Like, am I the only woman who didn’t immediately say “no” to this? How is he saying everything I need to hear? Is that instinct honed from years of practice on various conquests he’s humped and dumped? Is he, like, 70 years old? (He’s not, I stalked his Facebook. Don’t judge me, that’s HIS fault. There’s a reason MY personal account is locked down — all you get is photos of sunsets and the profile pic they make you leave public.)
But in the meantime, another friend sent me this article/podcast, should you wish to read/hear more on the matter.
I may have to cancel my other date, because as it turns out, I may not be sexually frustrated ENOUGH to hook up with an open-married man with herpes simplex 1 (the cold sore kind).
I’m actually bummed about this. He was my first online dating spark and I was looking forward to meeting, kissing, and eventually sleeping with him. Understand how MUCH I was looking forward to it, because I’m actually debating, “What are the odds I already have/will get this?”If this were any other guy, it’d be a Fadeaway tout suite. But Dude was willing to go out to dinner with me, fuck me, then LEAVE, and he’s not an idiot. THAT’S THE DREAM.
Obviously I’m glad he told me, and I’m going to get my own full STI screen. Who the hell knows, maybe I already have it — you can get it a million different (non-sexual) ways and never show symptoms. If I DO…well, the bright side is that sex is on. But if I don’t, I don’t want to go through the rest of my life disclosing this to potential partners and boyfriends because I had casual sex with a married guy.
It’s interesting: I polled a few friends about this and got divided responses. Some people said, “Eh. No big deal, everyone has it,” and others were like, “No. That’s some soulmate shit, not something you want to get from a married fling.”
One friend said I was “Chandlering,” a nod to Chandler Bing from Friends, who used reasons like “mascara goop” and giant heads as excuses not to date women because he was afraid. I AM afraid, but truly believe I haven’t rejected anyone for the male equivalent of “mascara goop.” I’m waiting for a decent bit of chemistry, someone worth shaving my legs for, and genuinely haven’t had it until now. Also, Chandler’s romantic issues ended with one of the top 5 best marriage proposals in TV history, so if I AM Chandler, I’ll take it.
In researching this, I’ve learned a lot of places don’t screen for herpes as part of a routine STI test — you can add it to the standard test, or you can test for it separately. So I’ve had “an STI test,” but I think the woman said those screen only for chlamydia, gonorrhea, and HIV. So… “The more you know… *brrrrring*”
I’ve also learned that Googling “herpes” will make you never want to have sex again, and that getting tested for STIs is a tremendous pain in the balls: my insurance won’t cover testing at Planned Parenthood, and I can’t get a gyno appointment until April. Can’t they add this to CVS’s Minute Clinic services? It seems pretty important.
Also, it is not at all weird that my personal Facebook, not connected to OkCupid in any way, suggested I add Hot Married Guy as a friend. But damn, he’s cute… Goddammit…
I cropped his name and all identifying info, but I will say he’s 20 and lives near my office, so if I ever want to feel like I’m fucking the youth out of someone on my lunch hour, this intrepid young lad is at the ready. Sold, Toddler. Let’s do this.
Hm. It’d be great if youth were an STD, like if I let this kid do things to me and suddenly I had tons more energy and drank hard lemonade and all my laugh lines were gone. Get on that, science. (Except the hard lemonade. Gross.)
I also love how this proposition is supposed to improve my mood, like, “Wow, that was a shitty day at work and those shoes made my feet hurt and I’m really not looking forward to that family gathering this weekend… But a Cub Scout wants to bang me, so wheeeeee!”
My health insurance enrollment form has a space where I can sign up for “basic STD.”
It stands for “short-term disability,” but still, a weird box to check. (Tee hee.)