As of one year and two months ago, I no longer take anti-depressants/anti-psychotics/mood stabilizers/whatever other shit they told me to take because I was too Emo. And as you may have noticed, I am often either thinking, talking or writing about sex. When I am not doing it. Or parenting. Separately. Because doing those two things at the same time would be weird. And against the law, though I guess it depends what State or country you’re in. I bet in The Netherlands, Dutch Social Services would think nothing of loud sex-having in your living room, while your kids wandered in and out finishing craft projects. Then again, they also condone heroin.
Speaking of drugs, orgasms are mine, but more like the legally prescribed kind, without the side effects, as long as you don’t go raw-dogging the whole village. I now see sex as medicine, especially when partners are thoughtfully selected. As someone who went long periods of my life starving for sex, it amounted to a Diabetic being without her insulin. I never fell into a coma, but almost. Also organic dark chocolate is non-negotiable… but on a daily basis it is my girlfriends that save me.
We all bemoan the advent of texting as the death of real communication but I am apt to disagree. Where in days past, one sat tethered to a vinyl covered phone spiral, dialing out and hoping to catch another girl with Benders curlers in her hair,now it is easier to get a hold of people, even as life has become impossibly complicated. A quick check in with a hilarious and non-judgmental woman can be the difference between sinking into a pit of existential despair, and LOLzing at the craziness of it all. *veers off road into tree
TEXTING AND DRIVING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DON’T DO IT.
Public service announcement over, we now return to our schedule programming, which is to proclaim – I LOVE MY BITCHES. Some are women I have known for decades, some for five minutes, and some for ten. Some are gay, some are straight and some are, like me, somewhere in between. On any given shitty day, if you reach out to the right one, there is an opportunity to share a common experience called life and commiserate about how awful everything can be, most especially leaf blowers. (On a related note: everything to do with leaf blowers- their proponents, operators and manufacturers- must immediately vaporize, never to return.)
I’m on Facebook a lot, and I know all the moms are doing it effortlessly, their kids are just thriving and they get so much joy from their effervescent, innocent faces… but I am suspicious. (Also, they are never complaining about leaf blowers.) I don’t know who these unicorn children and parents are, but some day I hope one of these June Cleaver bitches posts a candid pic of her locking herself in her bedroom because she’s worried she won’t get through the allotted custody she fought so hard for without backhanding someone.
Here’s what I have noticed: whatever the occasion is (Birthday! Long weekend! Mothers Day!) my experience is so vastly different from the publicly presented, lame stream media curated version, that if I didn’t have friends to check in with, the veering into a tree would be intentional.
When I was married I would certainly bleat to anyone that listened that I was a “girls’ girl.” In some ways it was true, as soon as I had a kid my endless fascination with men became an abiding respect for all women, who we are, how much we give and what we can do with our uteri. The fact that we walk upright without knuckles dragging, for G-d’s sake. At the same time, the sad truth was I would have thrown over any one of my girlfriends for my husband. (Did he need anything? Company? Support? Cheetos?) While in my own mind my ex-husband was dedicated to my happiness (good luck buddy, tough goal) in reality, I followed him like a bound-footed Geisha ready to drop anything in my life for him.
It was the gratitude, you see, for having saved me from a lifetime of men who hadn’t been quite as committed to my happiness (like, um, not at all), but my gratitude was misplaced. While I was still a great friend to my women friends much of the time, and certainly sat through my share of spiraling neurosis, it doesn’t compare to what the women in my life have meant to me since my marriage ended- both the ones who have stuck around to re-invent the friendship, and those I never even knew when I was still manacled.
So. In closing. Seeing as I spend mucho time dwelling on the positive effects of the male penis (as it should be) and some not so well-placed energy obsessing about the bone-headed actions of its wrangler, I felt moved to give a leaf-blowing decibel shout-out to the incredible, awe-inspiring females I know. Dudes come and go y’all and one day I am sure someone will deem me not as bangable as I am now. But when that day comes, there will sure-as-shit be some other broad willing to discuss it all over an almond latte, whether or not either of us decided to put on make up that day.