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.

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.

Dialogue About Consideration For Others

- One week before my boyfriend's birthday. Me and Mom in her car. -

Mom: What are you and [Boyfriend] doing for his birthday?

Me: I'm going to buy him all of his favorite food.

Mom: Aw, that's sweet.

Me: That way, his face will be stuffed so he can't say anything stupid, and it will be less likely that I will yell at him on his birthday.

Mom: I'm surprised you allow him to talk at all.

Me: I know, but I'm trying to train him.

Mom: How so?

Me: For one, I told him he can't ever be gross like Dad.

Mom: How are you going to enforce that?

Me: Whenever Dad says something gross, I look at [Boyfriend] and say NO.

Mom: Hm, that's smart, but it won't last.

Me: It will. He can't say anything gross, until we have children, when they are little and think fart jokes are funny.

Mom: Until!

Me: What?

Mom: Until! You said until!

Me: What?

Mom: I knew it! Dad told me you were only lying about not wanting kids to mess with me!

Me: I meant if I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: Until!

Me: If I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: You think that annoys me, but it doesn't! I'm pro-choice.

Me: - Then why aren't you pro-my choice? -