The Manginas who can't Handle our Vaginas

Women always compare their lovers. 

ALWAYS.

We compare size, we compare style, we compare the fact you weren't the first guy who was out of condoms and "didn't think it was a problem." 

We also compare our lovers with our girlfriends. 

We giggle over the fact that both our guys paid us the exact same compliment: 

"Your pussy is perfect."

Yes. Thank you. I know. Worship at the alter of perfection. 

We wonder why every male seems to think the Cock Selfie is a turn on, why they think we always want to cuddle and why they often care more about being Instagram friends with our siblings than we do. 

And often we wonder why communication is so much harder than their dicks. 

My current complaint--

Men who use sex shaming. 

We, as women, have been deceived to believe that all men want is sex, all men care about is sex, sex, sex, sex, give men sex and they'll be happy little monkeys!

FALSE.

I have never met a man whose sexual appetite could keep up with mine. 

E V E R.

Because the truth is that a lot of women want sex MORE than their partners. 

And why not?

Women are built to have multiple orgasms, to enjoy prolonged intercourse while men just roll over and fall asleep. 

Of course I'd want it more!

I get off more. 

(Literally, it's like always in threes, unless the guy is a real flailing, fumbling buffoon).

Cue Monsieur Clitoris, the lover I was currently lusting after. 

No, I'm not gay. 

(I kissed a girl once and that was more drama then I ever thought possible without actually sleeping with someone so I concede my "Open to Experimenting" hat & concluded instead that women are bat shit crazy & I'm enough wackadoo for one life, thank you).

But I do tend to be attracted to sensitive, artistic, somewhat effeminate men. 

Like, if I had a dollar for every time a friend thought the guy I was dating was gay I'd be leaving the Dollar Tree with my arms full. 

Arms FULL, my friends. 

So ok. 

Maybe I set myself up with this one. 

He did write me a love song before we'd even had sex. 

Maybe I should have ran screaming into the night. 

But he was so fucking cute. 

And wore bow ties. 

And he kissed by the book. 

(Whatever the fuck Juliet was saying).

So we meet, we date, we make violent passionate love to each other. 

And he L E A D S me to believe his lustful appetite is right on par with mine. 

He titles me "Lover" and delves into detailed description & anticipation of all the things he has yet to do to me. 

Hot Hotty Hot. 

Cut to tragedy after drama after shit show bombarding his life and I don't see the Mother Fucker. 

For WEEKS. 

Once in a month, but whose counting?

So I begin to regret my former Fuck Exclusivity Agreement because that was with the understanding that we would actually, you know.....

Be Fucking. 

So. Ok. 

It's cool. 

We're all adults here. 

Let's discuss this dilemma like adults. 

'Maybe if you don't have much time to get together we should consider making our relationship open. I would still love to date you but I don't want to put pressure on you to be my lover if that's not what you're looking for right now."

And then guess who suddenly decided there was "no point" in seeing each other this week because I had "thoroughly deduced what was possible between us" and it was clear I had "already made up my mind"?

Monsieur Clitoris. 

Ahem. 

Are you SHAMING me for wanting SEX, sir?

Am I being PUNISHED for not sitting around in my drawing room waiting for the one dewey morn you may decide to grace my vagina with your presence?

You're seriously just going to never have anything to do with me again because I was trying to suggest a solution that would suit both our needs?

You think you have possessive ownership of my body when it's not even important enough for you to make time in your busy schedule to be near it?

FUCK YOU!!!

And how dare some supposed bohemian make me feel guilty for wanting to get my sexual needs met. 

Was sleeping with other men my first choice?

No fucking way!

But I had no idea what the fuck I was to this guy, we'd only started dating before I suddenly stopped seeing him. 

And what girl wants a sexless lover?

I wasn't his girlfriend. 

I was his lover. 

He must not have understood what that word meant. 

It's hard for Mangina's to think when they have to spend so much time changing their tampons. 

So this is what I decided--

Women have a right to get their emotional and yes--gasp--sexual needs met from their partner. 

And if their partner is not interested in making any of those needs a real priority, then the woman is entitled to look elsewhere for satisfaction. 

I cannot BELIEVE that Monsieur Clitoris was such a child to not even TALK to me about what we both wanted and needed and what our expectations were from one another. 

What a disappointment. 

The next time a guy shows up in the middle of the night with his guitar I'm kicking him out. 

The Fucker could have at least had the decency to use me for sex. 

That's all I wanted!

Fuck.

The Best First Date Ever Says Goodbye

I really thought things were over. 

I'd seen him once in a month.

O N C E.

I'd heard from him a mere handful of times. 

After seeing him Wednesday things seemed so uncertain I asked him if he wanted to see me anymore, to which he replied, "I don't know."

Ugh. 

"I don't know" had been the mantra of Sheldon when I thought we were going to get back together for an entire YEAR. 

Hearing a man say "I don't know" was the kiss of death in my book. 

Cue exit music. 

But he had already bought a ticket to my show. 

"Yeah, IF he shows up," my cast mate had told me. 

Because that's how most of us think: People will let you down. People don't come through for you.

So every day after that I heard from him. 

He texted me every day. 

And he hadn't communicated with such frequency since that first week we spent together. 

I tried desperately not to read too much into it, as I'm wont to do, and just feel valued to be thought of with such consistency.

Until I'm drunk with my best friends and look down at my phone and read--

Babe. I send Love your way. Goodnight. 

He'd never used to word L O V E before. 

Surely that wasn't an accident?

Was it?

I'm the Queen of reading way too much into anything and everything and I really didn't want to hear something he wasn't saying but--

What was that supposed to mean?

And saying that the night after making me think things were over and he didn't know if he wanted to see me anymore??

So, understandably, the day of the show, I was so nervous I couldn't eat. 

I have NEVER been one of those girls that's like, 'Oh, I'll just have a small salad.'

I LOOOVE food. 

And I'd gone to the store & gotten a yogurt parfait--I'm so fucking addicted to those lately, I don't know what's up with that!--but I couldn't eat one bite. 

I had coffee. And water. 

That's it. 

He texted, I will be seeing you soon. 

And I almost wet myself. 

I drank a lot of fucking water. 

The cast was all lined up in the hallway waiting to go on while the director made his opening speech. 

"Do you see a cute guy in a tux?" I asked two of the girls in the show who were closer to the audience than I was.

'No, we don't see anyone.'

I sighed. Doubt sunk in. 

I wonder if he's even gonna show up.

And within the same breath, he walked in. 

Both girls who'd been searching for him saw him the same time I did & they gasped. 

'There he is!!'

He saw me and smiled and tossed me a small wave. 

'Oh, he's CUTE!' They shared in my excitement. 

Shit. 

Now I was REALLY fucking nervous. 

The show went on and I felt so proud of my performance. 

Musically, I felt very connected to my voice and hit every one of my high notes with the best precision I'm capable of. 

Acting wise, I had an absolute ball and felt focused in every scene. 

I really gave it my absolute all. 

And throughout the show, several times throughout, while I wasn't performing, we both managed to make eye contact and smile at each other. 

He even blew me a kiss once. 

It was so fucking cute. 

Him sitting there in his tux, tossing his shaggy hair occasionally to get his bangs out of his face. 

And me trying desperately to watch the scene in progress from my seat. When all I wanted to do was stare at his stupidly adorable face. 

The show ended and we left the stage. 

Flooded with excitement I was the first to leave the green room because of how anxious I was to see him. 

He already was walking into the hallway when I rushed out and threw my arms around him in a big hug. 

'You were amazing,' he said.

And we just stood there. 

Staring at each other. 

And staring. 

'That face,' he said. 

"What about my face?" I wanted to hear more. 

'I have no idea what my face is doing at all. Ever! And you seem aware of everything your face is doing. You were wonderful.'

He looked me up and down.

'And you look amazing.'

I looked at him adoringly. 

'That first song that one girl sang, about marriage, I thought, I wanna hear her sing that,' he continued pointing at me and then leaned his head against the wall.

'I have to go,' he said, sadly. 

"I know, you have your concert. Thank you so much for coming."

I paused and stared at him again for probably much too long. 

"I hope I get to see you again soon."

We looked at each other and he suddenly leaned in and kissed me, a slow, long kiss. 

And even though I heard murmurs of people around me, it was like the world fell away and the only thing existing in that moment was us. 

He stopped and looked at me but I kept my eyes closed a moment longer. 

'I'm sorry. I couldn't help it.'

He started to walk away. 

'Fuck!' He cried out, the way he did on our first couple dates, in this hilarious tourrets sort of way. 

Which had become our inside joke. 

Like, kissing each other was so insanely wonderful, it turned us on to the point of explosion. And there was nothing you could do or say except squeak out a 'Fuck!'

I laughed as I turned and watched him walk away. 

It was exactly the perfect thing for him to say. 

Because that meant he still felt as connected to me as he had on that first date. 

I was radiant. 

I felt so beautiful. 

I had dreamed that someday a man would be so moved by my singing, by watching me perform, that he would fall in love with me. 

And I had told one of my best friends that week that if he came to my show and wasn't moved to be with me after hearing me sing, when singing is my heart, when it's my soul, then he wasn't the right man for me anyway. 

Because the right man would be drawn to me, seeing my talent and passion unveiled. 

And he was so moved, he looked at me starry eyed. 

My cast mate told me she watched his face when I was performing and that his face lit up when I was up there. 

'He was starry eyed,' she told me later. 

And that's exactly what I'd felt!

It was also the first time he'd ever kissed me with my red lipstick on. 

Most guys are weird about lipstick so I always make a point to wipe it off during the course of a date or simply not wear it. 

But my red lipstick is a part of who I am. 

And I've only had one man in my life be so passionate about me that he just grabbed my face and kissed me with my red lipstick on. 

But he was married. 

And I don't want to talk about it. 

So he not only was moved by my performance to kiss me, he didn't care about the lipstick!

It was perfect. 

I felt like I was in a movie. 

Later he texted me, Got to rehearsal and didn't realize I was covered in lipstick...

I mean, how fucking adorable is that?

I was starring in my very own romantic comedy. 

And then, jump to today--

And the magic is gone. 

And he got back from his camping adventures and was the same distant man who'd uttered "I don't know" where "Of course" should have been on Wednesday.

"Can't we just meet sometime this week and spend time together?" I tried to reason with him. 

'What would be the point?' He said, defeated. 'I already told you what I'm going through and I haven't been making you a priority. So. I'm just not the right person for you right now.'

And that was that. 

I ended the conversation angry and hung up. 

HE was the one that didn't want to spend time with me. 

HE was the one that didn't want me. 

And he seemed annoyed by the fact I'd texted while he was away seeking clarification. 

But I had no idea what the fuck we were to each other!!

And how could I know if what I felt Saturday was even real?

When you're in love you believe what you want to believe, you see what you want to see. 

How could I know if I hadn't just imagined the whole thing?

But it didn't matter. 

Because whatever the moment was, it was over. 

But I KNEW what I'd seen and felt had been real. 

You can't see love in someone's eyes if it's not there. 

Our eyes are the gateways to our soul. 

And if he would have met me instead of hiding behind his phone today, I doubt we would have said goodbye. 

Because our eyes wouldn't have let us. 

Because how could they when we're so obviously crazy about each other?

But a man in grief, a man battling tragedy, a man who doesn't know me well enough to let me into his shattered world, can't receive my love. 

And I can't spend my life waiting for a man to be strong enough to have me. 

I'm a passionate, vibrant, sexual, loving woman. 

And surely there was a man somewhere who wanted to be in my bed as much as I was desperate for him to be in mine. 

And I was going to find it. 

Fuck. 

And to find that feeling again. 

But God damnit.

I really wanted it to be him. 

I wanted those starry eyes in my world. 

Desperately.

Attack of the Angry Lesbian

I really was minding my own business. 

In fact she was the one that ambushed our table. 

I didn't even know the girl. 

But she totally interrupted girls night. 

And somehow, in spite of the over abundance of estrogen, misogyny served as our beer chasers. 

At first she was really funny. 

That kind of loud, abrasive drunk. 

No filter. 

No volume other than DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? I MEAN, AM I RIGHT?

Some people speak in all caps when they talk. 

They make good stage actors.

Like, in outdoor parks.

Or stadiums. 

Without microphones. 

'What about you, sexy. What's your name?' The Angry Lesbian interrupted my reverie as I wondered why we'd picked this bar after The Observatory closed. 

I was out with two of my closest friends. 

And I love the intimacy that small gatherings bring. 

I'm a social butterfly, I can enjoy a party as much as any fellow diva.

But having these two unknown women crash my evening and turn my deep conversations of three to a chaotic noise vortex of five had jarred my evening. 

I thought they were going to stay for a drink and go on with their night. 

No.

Apparently we were their night. 

'What's your name?' She asked again, when the pause I took to take a breath was too long for her. 

"Teresa," I placated her. 

'And do you have kids, Teresa?'

"NO," I said, a little too emphatically.

'Do you have a boyfriend?'

"No," I replied with much more calm.

'Why NOT?' Her voice screeched. 

I made eye contact with my friend, Charmaine. She was the reason the Angry Lesbian had joined our table because the other girl accompanying her had known my friend, Charmaine through an old lover. 

Ohmygodcanwepleasegetthehelloutofhere, My eyes pleaded at Charmaine.

But she somehow didn't get the message.  

It was pretty dark in the bar. 

It was also hard to hear girl eye code when you'd had a lot of fucking whiskey.

My other girlfriend, Ann, was so polite, she just took in the whole event like a quiet observer, forgetting that she was in the middle of the ring right there with us. 

I felt alone. 

The Angry Lesbian fortunately was drunk enough to leave me be and continue on about her first wife and her newly second wife and how they didn't have sex on their honeymoon and how babies put such a strain on relationships. And right then I thought I might be able to relate to her other than the fact that my drunk karaoke voice mirrored the volume of her drunk speaking voice. 

But she suddenly turned into a middle aged white republican man. 

And I was proven most violently that I was mistaken.

'Well you better get him to marry you because otherwise what's the POINT?' She was pressuring her friend. 'What is the point of even being with him if you're not going to get married?'

My jaw fell open. 

I willed it to shut but my shock wouldn't allow it to budge. 

'And you need to have kids. Every woman should have kids. What's the point if you're not going to have kids?' She continued heckling her date for the evening, who apparently had been dating her boyfriend longer than the Angry Lesbian deemed appropriate. 

And then I couldn't be silent anymore. 

"Why does she need to get married?" I interrupted. "You just told us you didn't even have sex on your honeymoon. Maybe she wants to keep having sex."

Charmaine and Ann shot me looks of surprise and anticipated fear from poking the Angry Lesbian bear. 

But I had no fear. 

"And you just said having kids puts a huge strain on a relationship, why would you wish that on your friend? What kind of feminist pressures her friends into making the same mistakes she has?"

To my surprise the Angry Lesbian wasn't affected by any of my words but just went on rattling about "the point" of our lives as women and how we all better hurry up and find boyfriends so we could get married and have babies. 

I couldn't understand why I was so insanely angry but I made Ann move so I could get up from the booth and get out of there. 

How could a woman, a gay woman, who I'd think would understand more than any of us how maddening it is to not be accepted by society when you don't fit into some cookie cutter mold, how could SHE dare to not accept the choices we each made?

I don't want kids. 

At ALL.

And I don't know if I'll ever get married. 

And according to this expert on life, it's better to be divorced than to be single because at least then you're doing what you're "supposed to."

So......what?

We can all be miserable like you, doing the things we ought to, being the people the world decides we are, not feeling satisfied, not having sex, not getting our needs met, not being who we really WANT to be?

If any woman wants kids or wants marriage then they should pursue that with every fiber in their soul. 

But if they don't, they shouldn't be made to feel guilty for being DIFFERENT.

What the fuck decade are we living in?

And in Southeast Portlandia?!!

You've got to be fucking kidding me. 

So I guess I realized that night what's really important to me. 

A little fucking acceptance. 

I'm not a cookie cutter mold. 

And I thought that's what made me wonderful. 

But it took an Angry Lesbian to remind me that most of the world doesn't see it that way. 

And I cannot-

And I will not-

Allow A N Y O N E

To change who I am. 

This is my life. 

And I want to choose what's a part of it.