Monogamy, Assholes, and um. in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

It’s been a long joke with myself that I have One Confidant at a time.

(noun) a person with whom one shares a secret or private matter, trusting them not to repeat it to others.

Or, basically, one daily-basis texting friend at a time. If you include AIM as some form of texting.

I made friends with Fetlife Stephanie last month. Which. Is making it hard to have things to say to Fetlife Lucy. Because I kind of stream of consciousness everything.

It’s partly why I’m horrible with texting out of the blue. Because I consider “How are you?” a full commitment to actually listening if there’s something that needs to be listened to.

Plenty of you have olde friends you have contact information with. But. How often do you just ask How are you? Or how often do they ask you?

I’m willing to bet most of us would have zero notifications if we just put the phone down for a day. We’re just not that special.

Just makes me think about how polyamory sounds nice on paper. But if you bared your soul to someone you’re close with, purged whatever you were going through, and a second partner asked, “Wanna fill me in?” I don’t know about you, but I doubt I’d have the mental energy to go through the entire train of thought of emotions over again.

Longtime readers might remember a miscalculation I made when writing about my relationship stuff with Paige. I was very “Hey, I already wrote out my thoughts and feelings, HERE THEY ARE ON OPEN DIARY.” I can maybe see how she was a little peeved that I didn’t just talk to her first. (But eh, in that case, venting is venting.)

Nonetheless, every time I’m in a relationship proper, I definitely fall off the map with other friends. From a logistical standpoint, I don’t think poly would be a good fit for me. I NEED INDIVIDUALIZED ATTENTION.

Anyway, mono means one, and everyone has one anus.

That’s right kids, labia minora are definitely in style!

Ahem. Whatever exaggerations you may have picked up from Instagram are an exaggeration based on a truth. I have definitely seen a shift in girlie gymwear in the past ten years. At what point do you ladies say to another.

Excuse me, fellow woman, I can see your butthole.

It all strikes me as a slap in the face to MeToo. Wearing shorts with intentional wedgies is just not the same as a woman existing with breasts. The male equivalent would be a crop top, I believe.

Cheese-grater abz are distracting on either gender, let’s be fair.

By most rights, guys have gotten the message: leave women alone. Vast majority of dudes would rather stare at the ceiling or floor than ever get accused of even looking near a gymgal.

So: the number of guys approaching women has gone down, right? Cool. Which leaves… the guys that didn’t get the message.

So, of guys that will approach women, those guys will have a higher Creep Quotient, so to speak.

Look, I’ve literally been downvoted for saying “Women are people”. Every single time, no joke. In the case of these wedgie shorts, we can agree: she knows what she’s wearing. I believe it can be summed up as:

See the asshole, don’t be the asshole.

You can glance at someone at a grocery store. Or a beach. So, as outerwear, yeah, one glance isn’t a big deal. Here, look at my butt if you really want. I’m sure someone has looked at my gymbutt over the years, but I’ve never once felt stared at.

WHY WON’T ANYONE OBJECTIFY MY GYMBUTT. Boo.

Oh. And trying to fuck around with trans homies identifications is a way to make them undocumented. And the nuNazi regime has made it clear how they feel about undocumented persons.

Um....

Anyway, if that last bit bummed you out, here’s an earworm I hold onto during these end times.