The RN: Do I Have To?

I'm exhausted. I've had way too much adult stuff to deal with the last couple of months.

But first, let's start with a little immaturity. I celebrated my birthday at the beginning of August and it was a drunken-tomfoolery of fun. A bunch of us got together and celebrated like I was turning 21 at one of the clubs downtown. I'd tell you more, but I drank myself into oblivion in true twenty-something-I'm-too-young-to-care style.

And for the totally unfun, adult stuff. As I tried to donate blood, I got deferred twice because of low iron. With a significant drop in iron count between the first and second times. Which mean I might becoming anemic and should probably see a doctor to make sure I'm not having any other issues. But I really don't want to :(

In early July, The Dirty Little Secret had a house warming party for the condo she moved into a while (4 years?) ago. I had a rough night at the party. I realized I a few unresolved issues, in a way that made me the drama of the party :(

This is going to take too long, let me sum up. Here's a list of things I've had to deal with in last few months that make me wish I didn't have to deal with adult things:

• I changed jobs. This isn't a bad thing, but it was big for me.
• I had my car stolen.
• I found out I might becoming anemic.
• I spent hours at friend's party crying in a bedroom.
• I had to go to court as a witness, because my car was stolen.
• I realized I have a lot of unresolved issues with The Ex.
• I hired a lawyer to hopefully get me off the title of The Ex's house.
• I started going to therapy, because lots of issues.
• I had to stop completely stop talking to one of my friends because our "friendship" was causing me way too much stress.
• I am looking into buying a house.

I would like to go take a nap now.

A nice long nap, preferably in a bed instead of on a desk.

The RN: The Friend Zone

Following on from the last blog, perhaps the most important reason a woman says no is because she can.

No is an appropriate and acceptable response.
via BuzzFeed.

I'd like to talk about how much I hate the Friend Zone. Let me start with what I consider to be the Friend Zone. Not every guy I know is in the Friend Zone. In many of them are friends, simply friends. That does not put you in the Friend Zone. For the me the Friend Zone is reserved for people who don't actually want to be my friend, but approach me as a friend into order to get closer to me so they can try to sleep with me. This means that you, sir, are lying to me to try to sleep me. I hope there is special ring of hell for these people.

The RN: Why Women are so Picky about Sex

Women are picky about sex. Even when we're not being picky, we're still being picky. Why? Because we are taught from a young age by our parents, our friends, your friends, and society we are The Guardians of the Pussy. We are literally taught it is our "job" to say no. Just think about that for a minute. We are taught it's our fault every time we have sex because we could have said no. Talk about Rape Culture.

via Buzzfeed

So, getting started on my list of why we are picky is this: guilt sucks, if we are going to accept the guilt from having said yes when we could have said no, you had better be worth it.

When I get to place where I'm legitimately thinking about fucking you, one of the first things going through my head is "is this gonna be worth it?" To be fair, by this point I already know I'm attracted to you or I wouldn't be thinking about fucking you. Next on the list is, in an almost unconscious or not completely aware way, how will I be judged if I do this? What will my friends, your friends, society think if I do this? This happens most times I have sex. Yes, this is a big part of choosing a new partner, but it also happens when I'm with someone I have already had sex with. Pause ... contemplate ... I am thinking about whether I'm going to be judged even if we've already slept together. Why would I worry about it? Because:

via Buzzfeed

Don't let societies' ideal put pressure on me? Fuck. You. When was the last time you had to deal with conflicting pressures about how to live your life? Did you worry about fitting in? Oh, you did? Of course you fucking did! Because we are social creatures by nature and no matter how rebellious we may be, society still matters to us.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, why women are picky about sex. The next topic on my list is: women face more possible consequences from sex.

First, many STDs (I am child of the 90s and refuse to use STI; it's the same damn thing!) affect women more than men. What, I'm crying wolf? Fine. Don't take my word for it:

• "Sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) remain a major public health challenge in the U.S., especially among women, who disproportionately bear the long-term consequences of STDs." - The CDC
• "[STDs] impact men and women differently, and in women, can lead to long-term problems like infertility." - Jamaica Observer
• "A woman’s internal anatomy creates a virtual breeding ground for infection, as bacteria can become lodged more deeply in the body and breed more easily in a wet environment." - Get RI
• If that's not enough, Google it.

Second, Hello! Pregnancy! I don't want to hear your post feminism BS about this affects the man as well. I know, but I don't care because at the end of the day, it's my body going through it. There are a lot of risks to women during pregnancy. And, from what I have seen, it's miserable and extremely uncomfortable. But at the end, hey, now you have a kid! Yay! Just what society ordered; smile. And just about everything I don't want. Even if you do want kids, it still changes your body in ways many people don't understand. There is never a question on who the mother is, your life, and your body, will never be the same. Which is fine if that is something you want, but it's not fine if you have guys claiming we don't need condoms.

I do not want to deal with this.
via Show and Tell

Last topic, for this blog, on my list: sex is an invasion, literally.

When we have sex, your body invades my body. Stop for just a second and think about an erect penis. Yours, your friend's, your boyfriend's, your friend's boyfriend's, your husband's, a porn star's, anybody's, or a baby holding an apple. Now think about something that size rooting around in your organs.... Something you don't have control over.... Something under someone else's control.... Something someone stronger than you controls.... Someone stronger than you controlling a foreign object rooting around your internal organs. It's a wonder women agree to have sex at all.

None of this to say women don't enjoy sex, but it's about a lot more than satisfying our hormones in the moment. Also, hello? have you read the rest of this blog? I love having sex, but not so much that I will sacrifice myself or my morals for it.

The RN: Who's in my Mouth?

Wait! What?

Yeah, that's what I said, "Who's in my Mouth?"

The other weekend The Sonnet, a random guy friend, and I went to local diner after our friend's birthday party. As we were leaving, our guy friend left us to walk home when The Sonnet and I turned to catch a cab back home, when this random child boy guy showed up out of nowhere. He was staring at me and then declared I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen and asked if our friend was my boyfriend. This immediately made me suspicious since we all know, I don't think I'm super great looking.

Wait, how old are you?

Then he tries to take my box of food and hand it to The Sonnet, which did not amuse her. Then he walks right up to me and starts kissing me. I think he may have mentioned his name but I was still trying to figure out what was going on and all the sudden there's a tongue in my mouth. I was totally taken aback, I mean really who does that? Meanwhile, The Sonnet had caught a cab, so when he pulled back and said we should exchange numbers, I managed to say I had to get in the cab and left quickly.

In the cab ,The Sonnet and I were talking about what happened and the cab driver tells me I broke the guy's heart. And he was so sad he was going to jump off the roof of the diner where we had been.  We all laughed about it on the way home. When we got home I told The Sonnet I was going to put my food in the fridge and then go wash my mouth. Which I did. Promptly.

Although somewhat flattering, it was mostly disconcerting to have someone just walk up and kiss me without any preamble.

The RN: Dating Coworkers ... or ... Not ... Ever ... Never Ever

Okay, I have a rule about dating coworkers; it's very simple: I DON'T!

I don't date coworkers. I don't former coworkers. I don't date future coworkers. End. Of. Story.

Now admittedly not dating future coworkers can be a little harder since I can't really predict the future, but you get the idea. Mainly, as I've said before, this is because I want to maintain a professional appearance at work and because work is for working not for fucking.

Listen up, Ken, and everyone else.
(Borrowed from Quit or Not.)

I have recently switched jobs. Go me. Things are much better and I'm back to doing something I love and am really good at. Okay enough work talk, that's not what this blog is about. But, the job change has created some attention (50+ FaceBook likes - I think that's a record for me) and caused quite a few people who normally don't keep ... super in touch? ... with me to reach out to say, "Congrats!" Which is totally awesome, for the most part.

Of course, one of the people to reach out was Pajama Guy. If you recall this guys was both an Awkward Friend, "an old manger type", and married with kids. This guys has so many strikes against him, the rest of the team has stopped batting. Just ugh. And also:

All of the NO!
(Borrowed from FedUpUSA.)

BUT, that's not even the worst. I found out two of my old coworkers were taking bets on whether I was ... um ... dating ... one of my other coworkers. DAMN IT! This is exactly why I don't date coworkers. I politely (at least I hope it was politely - I may have been a little worked up at this point) reiterated I don't date coworkers. I was told the bettors took this into account. To which I replied: they didn't take it into account enough; it's not a flexible rule.

Damn Millennials! Do more work and less talking!
(Borrowed from Comedy Central.)

Just to be clear, if I met you at work - you have no chance. Not sorry I'm not sorry. Those are the breaks.

The RN: On "Smile"

After my last blog, a few people started sending me stuff about being told to smile. Apparently, I'm not the one who's sick of hearing this crap. Here is some of the stuff people sent me.

The Dirty Little Secret sent me this link:

Why are women so 'unhappy'?

The obsession with our happiness is troubling. But maybe dissatisfaction is a fairly normal reaction to injustice.

The Slow Dancer texted me this pic:

Yes, this.

One of my other friends posted this list on FB:

47. Being told to “smile” by a stranger. How about we tell you to go f*ck yourself? That’ll make us smile.

This article takes a more serious note, but actually reinforces what I was saying my last blog. You are not the decider of me:

“Smile, baby”: The words no woman wants to hear

Telling women to "smile" may seem a small thing -- until you consider what often happens when women don't want to.

It's possible this article was written by my doppelgänger. Really, I think she said everything I was thinking:

CHICK CHAT: It Is Not A Man’s Job To Demand Women To Smile

A man telling a woman to smile isn’t for her benefit, it’s for his benefit! Me not smiling doesn’t mean Nationwide isn’t on my side, or I won’t save 15 percent or more on car insurance by switching to Geico.
...
Do not tell me to smile! I am a grown woman who deals with adult issues and while 80 percent of the time my life is grand, I’m allowed the other 20 percent to be angry, sad, or any other emotion but happy and I don’t need to front about it.

At least this guy gets it:

‘I Stopped Telling Women to Smile
(and You Should, Too)’

DAMON YOUNG REFLECTS ON AN EXPERIENCE THAT MADE HIM GET RID OF AN ANNOYING HABIT

The point of all of this is simple; it's my choice when I smile. If you happen to catch one, be glad it was genuine. Those are the special ones.

Happiness and smiling aren't the same thing.

The RN: I Get to Be in Charge of Me

This started to come up in the last blog, but I get to be in charge of me. I get to decide what to do with my time.  I get to decide what mood I'm in. I get to decide who I see. I get to decide what I eat. I get to decide to what I wear. And I get to decide who I fuck. Even if you don't agree with my choices. They are not your choices to make; they are mine. This is not about feminism, although I suppose in some ways it is feminism. This is about being in charge of myself.

I have the power of choice in my own life.

The last several months, I have been getting madder and madder at seemingly innocuous comments. I know these people mean well, but in the end what they are doing is saying what they want is more important than what is happening with me. One of the most pervasive comments is, "Smile." Why? I'm not in a smiling mood or I would already be smiling. Just because you want me to be happy every time you see me doesn't mean that I actually am. And you know what? That's okay. I don't have to be happy every second. I am allowed to have other emotions.

Sometimes, after I get told to smile, I do smile. Frequently this is because I was in my own head and I'm fine to smile. Other times it just seems easier than arguing about it. This almost always fails, because it leads to the next command, "No a real smile. Not a fake one." Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Leave me alone. I am clearly not in a good mood. Also. You. Are. Not. Fucking. In. Charge. Of. Me.

 I don't have to smile if I don't want to. (Photo credit)

And maybe when you walk by my office and I'm staring at my computer, it's concentration not anger you're seeing on my face. Maybe I'm actually doing my fucking job instead of being eye candy for you. You know because that's what I get paid to do. And maybe if I decide to quit my job to take one that better suits my long term career goals and is 1/5 the commute, it actually has nothing to do you with you. And you really aren't allowed to be mad me for "abandoning you". Because maybe, just maybe, I am making decisions for myself and I get to be the decider. Because I am in charge of me.

Blatantly stolen from Facebook.

And my choices are about making me a happier, better person. And not about making you feel better at the expense of who I am and how I feel.