Short Post on My Mom Picking Up My Birth Control

I live in a city that doesn't have the mass transportation New York has, which is problematic when you have no peripheral vision, anxiety issues, and you're just not tall enough to see over the dashboard.

So, my mom has to pick some stuff up for me, like birth control. No big deal, or so I thought until my mom told me that she felt weird picking it up the other day.

Me:  Why?

Mom: Well, the guy was younger, like 21, and he asked me if I knew that insurance didn't cover your prescription.

Me: Yeah?

Mom:  And I told him that I know. I was about to leave, but then I added that my daughter doesn't do anything that isn't expensive. Then I went home and thought about what I said. . . .

Me:  Thanks, Mom.

For making me sound a little like a whore.

My Thoughts On "Free the Nipple"

I'm not trying to do everything that a guy can do. Physically, can I stand at a urinal while peeing? Yes, technically I, and all women, can. We can lift our legs up like a dog and make it work. Do I actually want to do this? No. Honestly, I'm far too lazy and like sitting. Sometimes I even cross my legs on the toilet. My prerogative.

But I don't like my body being treated like it's dirtier than a guy's. Why should my body hide? Why can't men just control themselves if they see a topless girl? I have no problem controlling myself when I see a hot, bare-chested man jogging.

"Free the Nipple" is still more complicated than just freeing the nipple to me. Why is it my job to keep men at bay? 

I'm not just referring to covering up so men aren't tempted, but I'm talking about it all:

• Purity balls
• Holding out till the third date, or third month
• Holding out till he "respects" me (this is a little vague, and implies that men should not respect women who actually can't wait to sleep with them)
• Not sleeping with too many guys so it's special for the one I'm with now
• The term "virginity" in general (it leaves women with a sense of loss once they "lose it," and, traditionally defined, it does not apply to same-sex couples)

Some conservatives believe that not only should woman live under different sexual standards, but that it's our job to "civilize" men. That by holding out, we are keeping men from just having sex all day.

I don't really want to sleep around with hundreds of men, but I also don't want women to be the keepers of men. 

Also, most men can't just sleep with women all day! First they have to find someone who is also sexually attracted to them, find a location, and fit it into their busy schedules of work, friends, and whatever hobbies they have (not applicable if hooking up is their hobby.)

And I'm surprised that conservatives are the ones who think we should be. Conservatives tend to have Christian values, which they get from the Bible. In the very beginning of said Bible, Eve leads Adam to temptation after she takes the first bite from the Tree of Knowledge.

Conservatives, clearly, by your own standards, women have not done a very hot job of being men's keepers from the get-go.

Tales From a Sugar Mama

It's a little ridiculous that I consider myself financially secure. I touched on this earlier when I mentioned to you (my readers) that I have a $1,800 mono-printing piece of art I call Natalie hanging in my childhood bedroom. In my parent's house. Where I still live.

If I can afford a $1,800 piece of art, you may be wondering why I still live with my parents? Good question, audience! Well, the answer is simple:  when I was nine, I had encephalitis, had two seizures, and lost my peripheral vision. No driving for me.

Of course, my doctors didn't bother to find this out when I was nine. For years, my eye doctors (I went to two different providers regularly in my mom's failed attempt to find out what was wrong with my eyes) marveled at the oddly pale backs of my eyes, then did nothing. No tests. No guesses. Just a lot of Hm, that's weird, but she can still see, right? Then I guess she is okay! If her eyesight starts going, then we will look into it.  It wasn't until Obamacare forced my eye care center to give their patients routine tests that it was discovered. The test ran all while the eye technician (or whatever she is called in eye-doctor language) complained loudly to me about Obamacare and the unnecessary testing and costs and time and paperwork (my god, the mountains of paperwork!) it was causing her.

Then the eye results came back and she shut-up about Obamacare.

So, I don't drive, so I continue to live at home where I have to rely on others for awhile. This allows me to save up a lot of money, which I spend ... erratically, to say the least. A really cute $12 tank top at Target? Hm, I don't know if I need this. . . . A trip for two to Disney World? Fuck yeah! Fast food three times a week? Hm, do I need food? Really? But I'm so little.

Even though I put a lot of thought into what I spend money on (sometimes), somehow I became my boyfriend's Sugar Mama. Trip to Milwaukee for Summerfest, trip to Disney World for a week, action figures, food, movie tickets, etc. . . . Even though Boyfriend would love to pay for stuff, he knows he can't, and I think he is finally comfortable with how much I spend on us.

Too comfortable.

—Boyfriend and I listening to Meghan Trainor's new song. The lines I never pay for my drinks. My entourage behind me. come through his car's radio—

Boyfriend: I never pay for my drinks either. —holds up a bottle of soda I just bought him to keep him hydrated on the way back from Summerfest, where I paid for our hotel stay—

I spoil him, and I don't know why.

Maybe because of his resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby Doo, representing simpler times where I would also blow my allowance on many things.

Thoughts From A Girl With OCD

I have had OCD (obsessive violent and/or sexual thoughts) my whole life. Probably even before I hit puberty. Like most OCD-sufferers, I just thought I was evil reincarnated.

Now that I know what it is, finally at the age of 23, I accept that I'm not evil reincarnated (how narcissistic of little kid me to think that I was the most evil, villainous thing there was!)

However, that does not mean the struggle has completely gone away. . . .

Common OCD Thoughts When Meeting A New Male Client:

Boss: Jordyn, I would like you to meet Mr. Client. Mr. Client needs a new website.

—Mr. Client holds out his hand in greeting—

Mr. Client: Pleased to meet you!

Me: Pleased to meet you too.

—Sudden image of my kneeling down and sucking his dick enters my mind while we shake hands—

Boss: —unaware— Please sit so we can get started.

Mr. Client: Great, well, as you know, I am a family man, and I really want my clients to get a sense of that on my website.

Me: Okay. —takes notes—

My thoughts: Images spread of me pulling down my pants, sitting on his lap, and riding him.

I look to Boss, convinced he can read my mind. Finally, he looks back and smiles.

Oh no, he CAN read my mind!

I look at Mr. Client, who is talking to Boss, and giving me a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Oh no, he can read my mind too! I better stop thinking!

Mr. Client: Website, blah blah blah, family, blah blah blah, products and such.

My thoughts: Trying to force the image of his old, wrinkly dick in my mouth out of my head. Image only grows stronger. Image Me seems to be enjoying it, and Image Client is not.

Boss: I think we got a lot of good information today. Jordyn, what do you think?

Me: —looks down at jumbled, nonsense notes— Yes, I agree!

I reach over to shake Mr. Client's hand, the picture of his cock finally out of my mind. I am thinking clearly again.

Me: It was great meeting you. I will send you the first design once it is finished.

Mr. Client: Great! It was nice to meet you too.

Mr. Client gives me a friendly smile again and I think—He DID read my mind!

The End.

Short Post On How My Life is Going

I know it has been a while since I have posted anything, so here are some insights on how my life has been going:

·      I ran into an old high school teacher outside my therapist's office the other day. He knew why I was there, I knew why I was there, and then we just parted ways.

·      I saw my boyfriend's unfriendly cat scarf down a mouse found in his room after my boyfriend and I had been fooling around in said room.

·      The cat actually let me pet her.

·      The cat hissed at me once my boyfriend left the room.

·      The cat dropped the mouse and, still alive, it now lives behind my boyfriend's TV.

My life is a cat trying to eat a mouse, letting it go accidentally, and then spending the rest of the day trying to get it back in its clutches.

It is also a lot of therapy.