“So I took a pregnancy test to calm myself down, and then got my period two days later.”
“Natalie, why are you telling me this?”
“Because you wanted a close and open relationship with your daughter and that is what you got, god damnit! And it was stressing me the fuck out!”
“Don’t say god damnit.”
“And you are getting on the pill immediately, god damnit!”
As some of you may know, the pill freaks me the fuck out. Come on. It hasn’t been around for that long, and quite honestly I don’t think we know the real side effects of the pill, just yet. So I stick to condoms. But I’m catholic, with an irregular period. So basically, every time I have sex…I think I’m pregnant.
And seeing as my mother put me on speaker phone when we had this conversation without me knowing, and my father was so lucky to walk into the room at the “pregnancy test” part of that convo, it has now been decided, that at the ripe age of 24, it’s time for their only daughter to go on the pill.
Honestly, I was slightly relieved, until my friend was like, “Uh, even on the pill you are going to think you are pregnant.”
Well fuck, what’s the point then? I would just like some peace of mind for once god damnit! Or at least for men to have to carry the burden of possibly getting pregnant.
Yeah, dudes. You go buy that 3-pack pregnancy test for 18.99 cause you were too cheap to go for the 30-dollar pack but not cheap enough to go for the store brand pack. And yeah, have the cashier lady who is barely sixteen look you down from head to toe with that, “Bitch their ain’t no way you are having sex if you are wearing a t-shirt with a sub shop logo on it,” look on her face.
And yeah! Then you get defensive and scream, “Well you know what! I am having sex! Bitch.” To the cashier lady who technically said absolutely nothing to you besides, “You’re total is 18.99.”
Side note, NYCer’s…. there’s no tax on pregnancy tests. Score one for the whores!
And another thing! Gentlemen, I am so sick of you all assuming that we, the ladies, are the ones who are supposed to supply the condoms. That shit has got to stop. We deal with EVVVVVVVVVVVVVVERYTHING else, you can cough up a few condoms in return. It’s only fair. Well really, it’s not fair at all, but for the time being, it will do.
I also can’t pretend like I’m not drunk while writing this…and Matthew may or may not have just introduced me to Chat Roulette a few hours ago and I find it fucking hilarious…I know, I know, Chat Roulette is so two years ago, but I didn’t understand it’s allure then. I have since been corrected.
Any who, the funniest part of this all, is I was told I have to go on the pill, right after I basically vowed to myself that I need to take a break from sex. A long break. Not going to lie. I’m kind of sick of it.
This isn’t a, “I need to find myself” moment. Believe me, I know myself…. Alllllllll too well. This is just a, “I don’t want to have sex” moment. Cause I don’t want to fucking have sex! I sound so angry as I type this. I’m not, just drunk. But come on. Am I the first to ever feel this way? The opportunity’s are there, you just ain’t feeling it. And it’s not them. It’s you. Which probably isn’t a good sign.
Fuck…and the cat lady transformation begins.