It has been brought to my attention that I am lacking in the morals department. That perhaps because I drink and dance and go wild (at times) and kiss boys, I am a bad person, deficient of character. That I am a slut.
I gave up a long time ago on trying to please people with my conduct. I could be morally sound in the eyes of the judgmental, uptight few who look down on others to make themselves feel better for their own shortcomings or I could feel happy and whole and not worry about pleasing others as long as I could look myself in the mirror each morning when I rise and each evening before I go to sleep.
Sunday morning I woke up and when I looked in the mirror my hair was mussed beyond belief and my eye makeup was smudged from sleep. And I maybe wasn't asking for a medal for my exploits from the previous night, but I certainly wasn't going to beat myself up about drinking (I had a designated driver) and kissing (I stopped the situation from escalating into something more). In the hard fluorescent light of the morning, I might have made different choices.
I am honest on this blog. I delete some details and I don't share everything, but for the most part, this is what it is like to be me. To be a young, single woman with an active social life, dating men, going out – warts and all. This life is mine. Much like I choose my shoes and clothes, I have chosen to live how I live and the last time I checked, I stand alone in these shoes and suffer when this goes poorly. This blog helps me see my life up close and I don't always like everything I do. Imagine if you put your own life in black in white on display. Would you like everything you see?
Little comments about my shirt (which, if you read closely, you would know was a wrap shirt on top of a black camisole, so it is hardly as if I was overly exposed when the tie slipped open) have somehow been given some sort of importance because I mentioned them. Really, it was a bathroom conversation that I thought was a cute slice of life and an example of women been chatty. (Also, it is what "writers" call a "flashback" or a "theme" or "humor.") The fact that I participated in a conversation about casual sex somehow makes me slutty in people's minds. Never mind that I sleep alone most nights. (We also talked about our careers, mortgages and played shuffleboard on Saturday night, so I guess in addition to being slutty, I am also a candidate for assisted living.)
I write because it is cathartic, because it is fun, because it helps me gather my ideas. I can (and do) take negative criticism. Commenting when because I think I've been misjudged doesn't make me thin-skinned. I was merely trying to add some context, but I suppose some people have made up their minds about me being a bad person based on a handful of incidents and comments from a small segment of my life. It is easy to judge some anonymous woman you don't know. And, I stand by the statement that if you dislike what you read here or how I act, you can read someone else's blog. (I hear there are, like, millions of them.)
Why waste your time hating me when you can be actually enjoying something else?