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I get into this terrible habit of slut-shaming myself when things don’t go exactly my way with guys.

Which is super healthy, right?

That guy from my frat says this weekend is super busy for him. And instead of taking this at face value and being like, “totally, okay, cool, he’s just got a lot on his plate for finals next week” I jump right to, “he doesn’t want to go with me because he thinks I’m trash.”

I don’t know why I go there, but it’s a really strange insecurity of mine. My knee-jerk reaction for a while now has literally just become, “[person in question] thinks I’m a whore and has lost interest”. In my defense, it’s been drilled into my head since like age eight by the patriarchy that if I get around too much I don’t deserve affection. (And you’re not fucking helping either, Taylor Swift, you backwards man-stealing puritan, seriously just because someone’s less pure and nerdysexy and blonde than you are doesn’t mean they deserve a boyfriend).

Sexually open women deserve this stuff just as much as women who make the choice to abstain. I’ve just got to silence the stupid critics in my head.

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To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with my butt.

In the words of one of my best friends, I’ve got a “donk”. My butt does not make complete sense with the rest of my body. I’m a petite girl and it just sort of comes out of nowhere.

The body-con dresses I love to wear squeeze the bottom of it. Jeans that would normally fit are hindered by its presence. My butt is completely incongruous with the rest of my body.

My friends insist it is enviable, but after spending middle school and high school friendly with a bunch of very tall, skinny girls, it is sometimes hard to appreciate “what my mama gave me”.

New Year’s Eve: Part 5

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This gent, who turned out to be a grad student and in a band (so we’re calling him Grad), and I wound up talking into the better part of the morning. He told me about what he was working on, I shared woes over having to do research. 

I was drunk and comfortable enough that I sang. He said he was in a band and I forget why but I started singing. I think he asked me if I could do anything musical, but I just wound up crooning to this guy on a floor at three in the morning.

He was nice, relaxed, confident, comfortable. He was mature. He was an adult. A lot of guys I go to school with are children now, it’s why I tend to be more attracted to the female half of my age demographic when working within the frame of college fun.

At some point in the middle of the conversation, some guy sat down with us and asked me for advice. “My girlfriend’s so insecure,” he said.

“Why are you telling me this?" 

He shrugged, "because you don’t seem insecure at all.”

It was weird to hear. I guess it was because I was singing or because I was drunk, but I normally wouldn’t say I’m not insecure. I have my moments, but as this tumblr constantly highlights, I’m constantly second-guessing myself, my lifestyle, my choices.

“That was weird,” I told Grad after the guy left.

Grad checked his watch, “we should get some sleep.” It was almost five in the morning.

I believe Grad was the first man since the first grade to try to erect me a blanketfort “worthy for me to sleep in”.