judypatricia

Pardon me for sounding Carrie Bradshaw-esque tonight; I've spent the last few days watching the first and second seasons of Sex and the City on DVD, and well, my inner writer, middle-aged, Manhattan self, is kicking and screaming to get loose. It's so bad that I raced out of the bathroom just a moment ago, to find a scrap of paper to jot thoughts down before I forgot them on the journey to the second floor of my home. Thank the goddess for sound-recording programs and internal computer microphones in a pinch.

Here are five things, in no particular order, that I hate about being female.

Number One: Hit-or-Miss Sex.
My male readers, consider for a moment just how detrimental an ordeal it is to go orgasm-less from a sexual exploit. I personally do notand cannotfully understand what it's like to have what's so cutely referred to as "blue balls," however, since you can, put yourself in my shoes for just a second: you're horny. You either know you are going to receive sex later on, or you're already rounding home-plate. You're all about the fuckmefuckmeohgodyes, pull the hair, bite harder stuff, eagerly awaiting that moment you catch a glimpse of our Lord and Savior. But imagine that beatific occurrence doesn't occur. You got all dressed up with nowhere to go; those fireworks were duds. After numerous rounds with the same, terribly frustrating outcome, what do you do? Do you give up entirely and go about discreetly purchasing a sexual aid via the internet? You'd think that, wouldn't you. But the reality is, this is fatal, you're a maniac of some kind and forever cursed to roam the Earth in search of the illusive G-spot orgasm.

Number Two: The Vagina.
Basically I appreciate it for its many wonderful uses, yet there is one thing in particular about it I can do without: the act of shaving it. Down, feminists, down! I understand I don't have to do it in order to please a man, and it's totally natural to have hair in those kinds of places. I get that. I speak for myself when I say that in the end, I ultimately enjoy a naked crotch. But, my gentlemen, another thing I ask you to contemplate: do you know how hard it is to shave something you can't really see? Personally, I choose to do this grooming while in the shower and because of that, I have to do it virtually blind (well, do you wear your glasses in the shower?). Having a tremendously over-bearing mother pumping such ludicrous fears into your young and impressionable mind, such as don't dick around in the shower because you could slip and break your neck, I don't take having to stand up in any unorthodox way lightly. Needless to say, trying to maneuver yourself so that you can get those hard to reach places, not only semi-freaks me out but feels completely asexual and asinine. Now that I have you all picturing me and my vagina (in the shower, no less), picture the look on my facewhich is a cross between pained and incredulousas I try to make the nether region presentable, for when I hope I get touched. Hot enough for you?

Number Three: The Boobs.
Don't get me wrong, some women would kill for this rack and to have been given it freelythanks MomI am appreciative. But there are occasions where I would prefer to be lacking in chest. One would be lying face down. After about a half an hour, I have to roll over because the twins were cutting off my air supply and just plain hurtin'. Another example, which affects me on a more daily basis, is the dreaded Are They Just Too Big For This Outfit? Surprised as you might be, the answer's always a "yes" or "probably." Then there are the social aspects, such as having your lesser-endowed female friends puffing their own little chests out as much as possible, mocking you at every given opportunity. Needless to say, that gets old after a dozen years. Plus, some guys don't always make you feel they openly value you as one big package or prize they should want to win at the summertime carnivals; I believe "Family Guy's" Peter Griffin summed it up quite nicely: "Why do women have boobs? So you got something to look at while you're talking to 'em."

Number Four: Thongs.
Now I don't necessarily understand why I happen to own so many pairs of those bastards, but I do. I love and hate them. Nothing makes you feel hotter than having a come-to-mama pair of undies on. Then there are those days where you slide into your favorite thong, only to find out alarmingly enough, they don't fit quite like they used to. I'm talking circulation-stopping hip straps that feel (and look) like they might cut you in half. Great. Now I'm a heifer and wearing ass-floss. Also, thongs seem to do their most damage at night, when you're so tired you fall asleep in one, even though you hate sleeping in one. It's like how your mother always warned you not to go to bed wearing a tampon; how come she never advised you against wearing a thong to sleep?

Number Five: Games.
And by that, I'm not referring to Scategories.
I hate that women have had to fight and die for suffrage, abortion rights and realistic salaries and safe work environments, yet to this day, perpetuate stupid, tee-hee I'm adorable, mind games with men. If by now, men don't realize that just because I may initiate sex with you that doesn't mean I'm a whore, then there's still a lot of work to be done. I don't personally believe in holding back half of what I say, for fear it may be unappealing (shocking, I know). And no, not all chicks only give head to get head, either. I don't like having to worry I'll seem pathetic and clingy if I call you when I feel like it, rather than waiting some obligatory period of time that's highlighted someplace in the dating handbook. If I have to act like Sandra Dee to bag myself a mate, then I guess I'll start practicing celibacy now, and get a head start on building my house out of glass bottles and eating cat food.