Anxiety, Ho!

It’s been a while, ye landlubbers.

Anxiety has hijacked my life as of late. For me and many others, the Kavanaugh confirmation process has been a waking nightmare.

As I discussed with a friend the other day, women are damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Deny a man sex? Then you’re labeled a whore. Give in to his advances or, God forbid, willingly have sex? You are also considered a whore.

Smooth sailing for us is not to be found anywhere. Take my old sex life, for example. Before my divorce, I was very picky and conservative about who I chose to sleep with. I ended up with a cancer-causing form of HPV anyway. Yay me! The doctor was in disbelief that with my limited sexual experience that I should end up with such a malady. But as luck would have it, I did. And you know what? I was ashamed and anxious for a long time to admit that even I, the impenetrable ice princess, could have an STD.

And then comes along this Kavanaugh thing. And it brings back the painful memories, and I have to wonder, how would men enjoy being treated as us women are as far as sex is concerned?

For a man, a conquest is exactly that–some sort of badge of honor, he’s slept with another one, bully for him. Another notch in the belt. When a woman does it, she is considered a slut for her poor choices.

Let’s apply this logic to the dudes for a minute. If I said all the men who chose not to sleep with me or weren’t attracted to me were dickheads, there would be an awful lot of dickheads around. If I add the ones that I’ve actually had sex with, ho, those are the REAL dickheads. It sounds so silly when applied to men. Why is that?

I used to be all closed up and anxious about sex, mostly due to a bad introduction to it in college. When I was a high schooler I used to think that having sex, especially at a younger age, made you a slut/and or a whore.

How naive I was. And what a stuck up judgemental beeyatch.

The tide came in–I divorced. And in the digital age sex seems something expected, even if you don’t know the other person very well. Not the best situation to be in when you’re a timid girl who has been conditioned to give in to men’s sexual advances. I’m just a girl who can’t say no–in a bad way. Or at least in my early digital dating days, I was. Now I am quite a bit stronger and intolerant of men who seem to only have one thing on their minds. They annoy the crap out of me and I tell them not only no, but hell no. Especially when they refuse to value me for the slightly deranged unicorn that I am.

Look at my sex life for the last two years, and a lot of people would consider me to be a slut. And you know what? I could care less. I have reverted back to my old, closed-off, serial monogamist ways. If people want to judge me for my poor judgment, lack of boundaries, and somewhat manic tendencies then they can stuff it.

ESPECIALLY since, if I were a man, I would be considered a hero among men. A real ladykiller, if you know what I mean. Click click boom. Wham bam, thank you ma’am. I would be revered for my prowess instead of degraded. It says a lot about how we view lady parts versus the all seeing, all knowing male genitalia. It makes no sense.

And how does this tie into anxiety? It is because anxiety and society’s cruel double standard has made me scared to admit that God forbid, I was ever sexually active. I love my grandmother to pieces but I know she judges me for it. She may be 84 but she knows what a booty call is (if you know what I mean).

This whole double-standard has turned me into a bit of a salty dog. So I leave you with a song that is supposed to be empowering to women. Until next time dear readers. Thank you for letting this scurvy wench confess her horrible sins.

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