Monthly Archives: December 2013

Have It Your Way

When I was a teenager, my friend’s mom dropped a gem on my friends and that only recently I’ve discovered the value to. She said to us, “you’re only a hoe from the ages of 15 to 21. After that, you’re a grown woman doing what you want to do.”
I spent much of my adolescence battling with being totally comfortable about my sexuality. By sexuality, I’m not referring to whether I’m into guys, girls, or both. I mean the basics. I mean simply wanting to have sex. I knew I wanted to. I knew with whom I wanted to do it. I had become aware of my body and knew what I was feeling. I had a vague understanding of what I liked and how it made me feel. However, in jr. high school, everyone was policing everyone else. Clothes, friends, hairstyles, and how long you were allowed to hang out after school were among the many things that were open for discussion at the lunch table. So of course your virginity and body count weren’t exempt from being put under the social microscope. Imagine a group of 14 year old girls debating with one another about who was a “hoe”, who was not, and which girl gave the cutest guy in our class secret BJs so that the guy would agree to go out with her cousin (yes this was actually happening in the 8th grade).
In high school the rules did not change. The only difference was that the boys were blocked off between the hours of 7 AM and 3 PM by our school’s high walls and strict nuns. But the conversations stayed the same. When I finally lost my virginity, I was able to participate in these conversations in a different way. I could have input, whereas when I was a virgin, I mostly sat in silence and took mental notes. But then I learned that I was now eligible to earn the most feared titles a woman could ever earn. Slut, whore, strumpet, tart. And how did a girl acquire these titles? There were numerous ways. So many that I began to fear that standing too close to a guy would do the job and my image would be ruined. On my own time, however, I started doing more research and learning about this new thing I was now doing, what I may be willing to try one day and what I was completely opposed to. Every once in awhile, I’d try to share some knowledge with my friends but they often looked at me as if I were straddling that line between a girl that is interested in sex and a girl TOO interested in sex. So I started to tell myself that it would be best if I chilled out. In my earlier years at college it was the same song. But for every person that loved to point the slut shaming finger, I discovered individuals that just did not care. They wanted to fuck and so, they did. And I had found people to have conversations with about sex with little to no fear of being judged. And thats when the words of my friend’s mom finally hit me.
I’m not exactly sure if she meant to put an exact age or time frame on when people grow the hell up and realize that sex is sex and that we all want to have it and enjoy it. But I realized that if I’m a mature, responsible adult, I can do as I want with who ever I want, however I want. And that I shouldn’t be too concerned with what others call it, just like I shouldn’t be concerned with what they do. What is a slut anyway? There are so many different answers, its sort of like discussing politics and religion.
Sex is like visiting a Cold Stone Creamery. There are a variety of flavors sitting behind that glass and there are more ways you can mix em up. You can be daring and add gummy bears, heath bars, and fudge brownies to your birthday cake batter flavored ice cream. Or you can keep it totally vanilla. You can get a “Like It” sized cup or the “Gotta Have It”. And its all good. You can have it your way (Thats Burger King, I know). And to anyone that thinks your Birthday Cake Remix is too much or that your vanilla isn’t exciting enough, you can simply take a spoonful, put it in your mouth and give em the finger because your taste buds are pleased and thats all that matters.
So as Beyonce so proudly proclaims while dancing along side her flawless reflections in that Pepsi commercial, I’m a GROOOOOOOWN woman and I can do what(or whom)ever I want! I’m going to have as much ice cream as I want and it is none of your business how much of it I have or if I like graham cracker crumbs mixed in and caramel sauce drizzled on top.

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Don’t Ask

So here you are. You’ve met a person that you’re kind of into. (S)he’s cute, has a great personality, you seem to vibe well and now the “getting to know you” phase is underway. So you ask each other questions like “what’s your favorite pizza topping?” and “did you hate/love Yeezus as much as I did?” You know, the important stuff.
This part of the dating process is sort of fun for me. I enjoy getting answers that spark conversation and playful debates. And who doesn’t like talking about herself a little bit when it’s time for some Q&A? But there’s the one question that always comes up that I absolutely hate being asked. “So, why are you single?”
This topic always comes up when I’m in the middle of being quizzed about myself. Sometimes it’s straight forward while other times it comes in the guise of a compliment. The whole “you’re so (insert compliment here). I can’t believe you’re single. Why is that?” bit. I hate it. Don’t ask me that.
For starters, I don’t even have an answer to that question my damn self. Nigga, I just don’t know! But for others that do know, it could be a number of things such as “I’m focusing on my career right now”. Or shes only single because the love of her life has left her high and dry and so she’s been forced back into the dating world reluctantly and you just happened to be there.
I get the curiosity and that you might be able to dodge a bullet by asking certain questions. When you think a person fits into your personal brand of perfection but isn’t spoken for, you start to wonder what’s wrong with this person. If (s)he’s so great, why is (s)he alone? She could be single because she’s killed every man she’s slept with and you might be next. In that case, you should definitely ask and definitely call the authorities and run. But what if she’s not a black widow serial killer? What if she’s single just because she’s single? And furthermore, why are YOU single? Does it matter? We like each other right? So why does it matter why we have been lucky enough to meet one another and get to know each other?
Like I’ve said before, I never have answer to that question. Maybe it’s because the answer seems to change everyday. Maybe it’s because there is no answer at all. Maybe a higher power is saving me for Michael B. Jordan or something (and if that’s is the case, I will wait as long as I have to, God). But no matter what, it always leads me down this path of self doubt. I find myself thinking Well yeah, if I am so great, why am I single? Maybe I’m not as great as I thought. Which is hogwash because I know I’m a pretty cool person to know and have around. But when you’re asked enough and in a way that makes it sound like something isn’t adding up, you start to question if your confidence is a little misplaced.
So please, just don’t ask. I’m single, you’re single (at least hope so. But with my luck…). Let’s just keep talking about Batman being totally better than Superman and how turkey bacon is a crime against humanity. Just promise me that you’re not a stalker and I won’t ask either.