Notes on a Scandalous Life

While pursuing the news at work (Since my boss blocked Facebook, I have become the most crazed "news" junkie I know. Trump vs. Obama? Pictures of tornado damage in Missouri? Celebrity gossip? Oh, yeah. I knew about all of that before you did.), I came across this article, which cites a study saying that the use of medications during pregnancy is up - 50% of pregnant women used at least one prescription or over-the-counter drug during their first trimester, compared to 30%, 30 years ago.

I was initially a little apprehensive to even click on the link, because, well, uh, it was on Fox News. The fact that I actually visited the website of and read something put out by the same network that airs The O'Reilly Factor should be heralded as a testament to my open-minded, bipartisan nature. For real. But, anyway.

The article didn't exactly lament the rise of women's use of medications during pregnancy; it simply cited the need for more complete information about which drugs are safe to use during pregnancy, and which are not. And the researchers also said that women should not be afraid to take medication for chronic conditions during pregnancy, even if those medications haven't been "proven" safe. I use the word "proven" rather loosely, because my doctor gave me a list of only around five over-the-counter drugs that I could use during my pregnancy - the only ones, apparently, that I should use without feeling soul-crippling guilt.

To my knowledge, medications for pregnant women are divided up into three categories: the ones that are known to be safe, like Tylenol (but, if you're a really good mom, you won't use any of those, either - why take chances on something that's proven harmless?!), ones that are known to cause birth defects, like Acutane, and all the rest. No sign that these cause birth defects, but, you know, just in case, you shouldn't take them unless you have one of these "chronic conditions".

What, exactly, entails a chronic condition? Well, that's debatable. And not by you, but by your doctor. According to everything I've read about pregnancy, your doctor should be the ultimate authority during your time as a human incubator. No matter that doctors are human, and they all have different opinions. Some doctors, for instance, will tell you that a glass of wine is okay, and some doctors (like mine) will tell you that alcohol is not permissible in any amount, at any time. Who has the final say, here? It's not you, not even if you read every study there is, and concluded that a glass of wine will not harm your baby. It's your doctor, who read all the same studies that you did, and decided that it's better to tell all her patients not to drink, just to make sure she doesn't send a message to patients that might overdo it that drinking is OK.

Before you got pregnant, medicine was about making sure that you were healthy and comfortable. Sure, that back injury would heal if you rested, anyway, but a muscle relaxer and pain killer definitely made the resting easier. But, now that you're pregnant, probably one of the most uncomfortable and painful times in a woman's life, how you feel suddenly no longer matters. Crippling nausea and vomiting? Eat some crackers. Agonizing labor pains? Well, you should really go for natural child birth, but, if you're a selfish, pain-intolerant degenerate, we'll give you an epidural. It'll work... maybe. And, what if you do have a chronic condition? It'll probably get better while you're pregnant, as my doctor told me about my bursitis (it hasn't), so just be patient and suffer in silence. Take a Tylenol if you must.

And, let's face it, one of the main reasons that pharmaceutical companies don't conduct more surveys of women who used certain drugs during pregnancy is because, even if they were deemed them safe, most doctors still wouldn't prescribe them, and most pregnant women still wouldn't take them, because of the social stigma attached to pregnancy. You see, the moment you get knocked up, you, as a person, disappear. Your pain, your sickness, your mental health, are no longer important - you are gestating! Nothing else matters!

Unfortunately, the fact is that women do not spontaneously morph into angels when we become pregnant. We still have problems, physical and psychological ones, and, if crackers and ginger tea couldn't fix them before we got pregnant, they probably can't now. And, while the health of our children unquestionably comes first, our health still matters - and, actually, it makes a big difference in the health of our unborn children, as well. Hopefully, someday, the medical community, and the community at large, will realize this. Until then, we will continue to be invisible.

Since letting the fetus out of the bag and telling the world that I'm pregnant, I've had a few people approach me and say "I'm really surprised that you're keeping the baby. I thought you were pro-choice!" It's a legitimate question - I am very vocal in my support of women's reproductive rights, and I absolutely think that having a child is a big step that far too many young parents aren't ready to take. Not to say that I'm necessarily ready (Is anyone really ever ready for that kind of responsibility? It's pretty heavy, man.), and I definitely considered my options when I first found out that I was pregnant. But, since I've decided to be a parent, let's cut the whining, and just buy me some baby stuff, k?

While we're here, let me answer some more questions, just so everyone's minds can be at-ease.

Q: Are you going to be a stay-at-home-mommy SQUEEEEALLL?!?!
A: I would rather chew my right arm off. While I intend to care for my own child while I'm not at work or school (I still work full-time, and am signed up for the GRE in July, so I'm slated to go to grad school in the fall.), I don't intend to abandon everything I've worked hard for in order to narrow my life's work to an attempt to control my child's future by spending every possible second with it. I can pay somebody else to do that, because I have a job.

Q: Are you getting married?
A: I think people tend to misinterpret my lack of desire to get married as a lack of desire to commit myself to my partner. This isn't it, at all - I just don't feel the need to obtain a piece of paper in order to legitimize our relationship for everybody else. Plus, I'm not about to try to squeeze into a wedding dress right now.

Q: When are you going to trade in your Camaro for a 4-door mommy-mobile?
A: When I decide to, if I decide to, and not a second sooner. I know lots of people who haul their kids around in a two-door car, and, although this probably has more to do with lack of access to a four-door car than refusal to give up driving a fast car, they seem like they're still surviving.

Q: Are you having a natural birth? The pain is SOOO much fun!
A: Hell, no.

Q: Why even bother having a baby if you aren't going to bring it into an uber-sterile environment controlled only by you?
A: Hillary Clinton said it takes a village, and I'm a liberal, remember?

The first time I was tsk-tsked for sticking up for another woman was when I was living in Fayetteville, North Carolina, married to a soldier. We went to a bar with some of my ex-husband's friends, one of whom was a notorious womanizer (or, so he frequently informed us - as Ferrol Sams says, "Religion is like sex - them that talks about it most is practicing it least.") who had flown in a girl from his hometown to spend the weekend with him. My ex told me that this was a common practice for his friend, who considered it a great way to get a full weekend of sex for the price of a plane ticket, and then send the sperm vessel back home and out of his way.

Every time I make the mistake of leaving my house while intoxicated, I seem to come home with an issue of Cosmo. I hate Cosmo, really. Its only redeeming quality is the Chelsea Handler feature, and one page does not an entire magazine save.

This month, as usual, even Chelsea Handler advising me to make new friends, because you never know what might be prescribed to them did not keep me from getting really irritated with pretty much everything else in the magazine. Maybe I buy Cosmo because I like to be angry, because it's not like I really ever expect to read anything in there but the same old sexist, insecure, hetero-man-pleasing trope. But, at least they could offer some novel sex tips. And the cover always sounds so promising...

For example, this month's was "75 Sex Moves Men Crave!" I already knew that what's going on in the minds of the men that most Cosmo-reading women are aiming to please isn't really worth knowing, but, what the hell, I read it anyway. This one was a boring, tasteless smattering of testimonials from guys, who were whining about things their ex-girlfriends never did in bed. Nothing like anecdotal evidence from some douchebags to help me make decisions about my love life!

Because these guys were talking about their exes, they were free to let it all out without fear of reprecussion, and, judging by the kinds of things most of them were after (swallowing! buttsex! sex during my favorite time of day or night - who cares if you want to! crazy positions and tactics that require no work whatsoever from me!), it was pretty obvious who had probably done the breaking up. Although, supposedly, all of these guys never admitted these "secret" desires to their exes, I'm willing to bet that at least one of them found themselves single and without any sex at ALL after saying "Our sex is cool and all, but, I gotta admit, I'll never be totally satisfied until you start interrupting your sleep schedule more often to wake me up in the middle of the night with surprise sex. Don't worry, I'll be laying here, motionless, while you do all the work and I have all the orgasms."

I think that, from now on, I'll just pick up Maxim or Playboy. At least they don't pretend to have my best interests in mind.

This afternoon, I watched a six-months-pregnant woman smoke three cigarettes in two hours.

I recently had the opportunity to write for Fictionista Workshop, an online community for female writers, which is pretty badass. My piece was about feminism and chick lit, which I didn't think was an overly-controversial topic. I thought I had examined the issue from every angle and reached a pretty moderate conclusion: while chick lit doesn't represent a very vast swath of the female experience, it's not exactly repressive. And yet, a commenter still managed to log in and declare that my essay was a white, middle-class piece of trash. WELL.

I haven't blogged in forever, and, if you look at the date and subject matter of my last blog, the reason is obvious: I got two jobs and started taking more courses on campus.

I realized today that I haven't bought myself anything since that purse that I bought a few weeks before Christmas. Yes, it's true - not only have I not purchased a new purse in almost a month, I also haven't bought myself so much as a pair of SOCKS during that amount of time. Tonight, while browsing ideeli.com (maybe I should avoid doing that, in times of cashlessness), I cried. On the inside. But when Gramcracker gave me a gift certificate to Ross for Christmas, a part of me almost wished that it were cash, so I could use it to pay bills. Yes, times are THAT hard. But it's not all bad. Maybe I'll learn that there are more important things in life than material possessions. Or, maybe I'll just start shoplifting.

Of late, I picked up a book that I had once procured and then forgotten about: Touched by Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. I'm not one of those people who would be likely to say to all my friends "I am sooo hyper, and I get bored in class. I must have ADD!" So, I don't think I'm over-diagnosing myself when I say that I do believe that I am and always have been manic-depressive, because I feel like this book is ABOUT me.

As the book explores, some would see my manic-depressive state as a bad thing: artists are more likely than the general public to be manic-depressive, and, likewise, are more likely to commit suicide and abuse drugs or alcohol. One camp thinks that the condition requires medication. Another camp thinks that it's the source of artistic inspiration. It's not like ink hasn't ever been spilled on this argument before. To wit: is madness really such a bad thing when it helps an individual to create art?

I've been feeling pretty existential lately, and I have to say that I think that the highs are worth the lows. When I'm manic, I can sit down and write, and write, and write. My creative ability skyrockets, and, to me, that's worth the occasional depressive spell that I experience. But then, even the lows can assist in the making of art - it's the way that artistic individuals FEEL things more strongly than the general population that helps them to channel those sensations into art.

If I knew someone who experienced (I hate to use the phrase "suffered from") the same condition that I do who chose to take medication, though, I would understand just as well. It's painful, sometimes - even the mania can be uncomfortable, when it keeps you from sleeping or makes you irritable. But, for me, it's worth it. This should come as no surprise to anyone who is very familiar with me, though, anyway - you all know that I'm crazy.

Since I talked up my excitement about Avatar the other night, I think it's only fair that I share my thoughts about it - post-movie. Personally, I loved it, even though there were a few holes.

The goods:
- Strong female characters not relegated to mere romantic interest roles
- Slight gender ambiguity among the natives of, uh, whatever-planet-that-is. I don't mean that you couldn't tell which ones were male and which were female, but, rather, that they all served similar roles in their culture - very egalitarian.
- Really, really well-played and imaginative special effects.
- Sigourney Weaver with a tail.

The bads:
- Several gaps in the story. Personally, I felt like I just got dropped in in the middle, and then had to find my own way from there. I had a lot of questions that were left unanswered - even though the movie was long as hell.
- The anthropologically-correct moral of the story (that indiginous people are not necessarily "primative" - just different) was a little overplayed, and made a lot of obvious references to American Indians. Not that that's bad... but sometimes I felt like it was being pushed on me a little bit.
- Not enough Michelle Rodriguez. Per my previous post, this may be due to some personal bias, but... c'mon.
- The whole "mating for life" thing. While I'm not opposed to mating for life, I kind of thought that an indiginous tribe, so in-touch with nature, might be a little more, you know, promiscuous. But then, maybe I'm just being too liberal here. Penguins mate for life, after all. Maybe they're like penguins. Just not quite as cute.

Overall: excellent moie. Especially in 3D. I hated Coraline in 3D, but this movie totally utilized the technology to make the film really jump out at you. My final verdict: go see it!

Earlier this afternoon, Abby and I caroused Rockwall, finishing up our Christmas shopping (and I confess to buying myself blue mascara - I can't go into Wal-Mart without purchasing ridiculous makeup). As soon as we got home, the muscles in the left side of my back attacked me, and I've been nursing the heating pad on the couch ever since.

This morning, I completed my final for Modern Grammar. I only vaguely understood a number of the questions, so my guess is that my grade on this will be something of a... low. Which is okay with me. Any grade that is a passing grade will satisfy me perfectly, in this class. My teacher, a very sweaty, very Italian man (but also extremely lovable!) rarely spoke comprehendably about anything except his love for The Golden Girls. My grasp on Chomskian sentence diagramming suffered accordingly. But then, to be fair, I doubt I would have ever really caught on to anything that Chomsky had to say about syntax, anyway. We were once guest-lectured by a professor who referred to subjects as things like "actors" and direct objects as "recipients", and I found this approach, with its room for creativity, to be much more up my alley. So, fuck you, Chomsky. I never liked your theories about Subject Verb Object, anyway. I will be happy if I make a D in this class.

And now, I am listening to the soundtrack to Into the Wild. Prior to hearing this record, I never knew that Eddie Vedder could be so... delicious. But he is.

And so, until MyLeo is up and I can investigate the terms and conditions for my final midterm (It's online! Squeal!), I'm just going to sit here, listening to Eddie Vedder singing (deliciously) about the joys and sorrows of the nomadic lifestyle, and possibly reading Wicked. I started it a few days ago, after hearing from a few people that it was way, way more colorful than the play, and had morally disturbed them a little. I have yet to be disturbed, but I'm only about 50 pages in. There's still hope.

Are your nails painted?
My toenails are, but I never do my fingernails. It's too much maintenance.

Are your dreams strange?
My dreams are ALWAYS strange. I actually keep a dream journal.

Do you have to check in with your parents before you go someplace?
At the tender age of 23... I don't think so.

Do you know anyone who doesn’t smoke pot?
Not everybody can be down.

Did your ex say anything that you still think of?
Yes.

Have you ever done something you promised yourself you wouldn't?
Sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse.

Do you miss anyone right now?
A lot of people.

Are you a shy person?
Hell, no.

Do you have memories that you want to forget?
That's up in the air. Probably not, though. My experiences have, like, shaped me and junk.

Would you rather love one person or have many short relationships?
It depends on whether that love-relationship is healthy - if yes, than I would choose that, but, if not, I would rather enjoy the company of several people I'm not overly-attached to than pine over someone I can't or shouldn't be with.

Do you have a best friend of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?
Actually, no. Most of my friends are women - and I'm definitely okay with that.

What is more important in a relationship, happiness or trust?
I've trusted people I was completely unhappy with, and I think I would rather choose happiness. Adventure is more important to me than stability.

Wanna talk to someone you havent talked to in a while? Why?
Yes; won't say.

Do you have more than five songs that remind you of just one person?
Yes again.

Do you still have any attachments with an ex?
Several of them, actually.

When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in their face?
This guy on my Facebook posted some status about how many women it takes to screw in a lightbulb... I don't remember the answer, but it was some kind of stereotypical, ignorant portrayal of feminists as man-haters who are in denial of the fact that women can't survive without men... I deleted him. It wasn't quite a punch, but it helped.

What did you wake up to today?
I think I just kind of woke up on my own - I was thirsty and my spine hurt.

Have you ever laid on a bed and stayed there for no reason at all?
There's always a reason for that - I refer to it as "laziness".

Do you think someone is talking smack about you behind your back?
It's the status quo.

Does anyone not like you at the moment?
See above.

Has anyone put their arms around you in the past 5 days?
Lots of people.

Do you hate being home alone?
I used to, but now, I really like it. A little solitutde, in which I can read a book, take a bath (and a xanax), listen to music, do some homework... mmm.

Are you under the influence of anything at the moment?
Birth control... it's a very good influence.

Do you sleep with the door open or closed?
I don't have a door, but I rarel close the curtain all the way. I'm not a fan of pitch black.

Could you go out in public looking like you do now?
Swim team t-shirt, VS flannel pants, moccassins... why not?

Do you think relationships are even worth it?
Even relationships that end poorly can be good experiences, in the long run, but that's not to say that everybody is made out for relationships.

Do you like horror or comedy?
Horror FTW!

Have you ever been called heartless?
Not in recollection, but I have been called a lot of other synonyms for that. "Piece of work" is my personal favorite.

Has anyone laid on your bed besides you?
Just look at me. I am SO celibate. Duh.

Do you like to color?
I suck at coloring inside the lines.

Have you ever slept on the floor with someone you liked?
More like passed out

What is your current annoyance?
TAMU-C, per usual.

Are you a risk taker?
Without risk-taking behavior, how can anyone LIVE?!

Have you ever worn the opposite sex clothing?
Sure.

Your phone is ringing. Its the person you fell hardest for, what do you say?
Tough call. I really don't know the answer to that.

Do you know anyone that drinks?
I live in an Amish compound, so of course not.

Anyone pissing you off?
You could say that.

Have you ever dyed your hair?
All the times.

Do you understand football?
About as much as I can understand something without giving a damn about it.

Has someone ever told you that they would be with you forever?
Yes, several men.

When was the last time you were sick?
Last night... mmm beer, you have betrayed me again.

What is the worst subject they teach in school?
Home Ec.

Are all of your friends in relationships?
I'd say its about 50/50, but the balance is coming closer to tipping all the time.

Are you looking forward to something as of right now?
Christmas in Galveston, trick!

Have you ever worn false eyelashes?
Love 'em.

At the moment, are you more warm or cold?
Juuust right, which, for me, means warm.

Do you find girls/guys with facial piercings attractive?
Less and less so, as I age.

When was the last time you saw snow?
Last time it snowed, Mom texted me to tell me about it... and I just kept right on sleeping. I hate snow.

How long is your hair?
About down to the middle of my back.

Are you wearing make-up?
But of course.

Something you hate more than anything?
Sexism; ignorance.

Are you wearing anything?
I feel like I answered this question somewhere up there...

Wanting to tell someone something?
Oh, yeah. I'm always full of statements to make.

What do you think about toe socks?
PITA.

If you had to live off one type of fruit, which would you pick?
Tough choice... strawberries?

How long does it take you to get ready?
Depends on what I'm getting ready for. Never more than an hour, but usually closer to 30 or 45 minutes.

Are you the type people should take seriously, or should they think you’re joking?
They should just assume I'm joking. Even if I'm being serious, it's not worth the trouble of them taking me seriously and getting offended.

Do you break things when you are mad?
No; sometime in grade school, I learned to channel my emotions in non-violent ways.

Do you mind sleeping on the floor?
Usually... but sometimes, it happens.

I've been reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau's Reveries of the Solitary Walker for a paper that's due later this week. Now, let me be clear about this: I am a 50/50 Rousseau fan. I agree with him, philosophically, on many levels (Deism, for example, and the all anti-church-and-state bits), but his sexism pretty much prevents me from totally joining the cult of the Enlightenment.

Anyway, I was reading along, minding my own business, when I came upon this passage:

"...having resolved myself to reconstitute a herbarium more complete than my previous one, until such time as I can collect all the plants of the seashore and the Apls, and the flowerings of all the trees of the Indies, I am making a modest beginning with chickweed, chervil, borage and groudsel I botnize learnedly at my birdcage, and every new blade of grass that I spot makes me say to myself with satisfaction: 'There's one more plant anyhow.'"

Basically, once-upon-a-time, Rousseau had quite the collection of plants, but, for some reason, they were now all gone (In case you didn't know, a lot of the Enlightenment thinkers also dabbled in science, as well as philosophy.). Now, seeking to rebuild t, he had to start from the ground up. Rather than adopting a "this will take foreeever" mentality, he began, cheerily, right at the beginning.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm in Rousseau's position. I want to collect all the flowerings of all the trees of the Indies, but, right now, I'm just muddling through my BA at Texas A&M. And that's frustrating. But, someday, I'll get there. I just need to keep collecting blades of grass... and start turning in homework assignments on time. Sigh.

Since it's been getting cold, and Abby's never around to shoo him away, I've been letting Diablo sleep inside. He's kind of dirty and smells bad, but I've let Pooky sleep in my room before, too. Besides, he's good company.
I've been dabbling in feminist lit, as usual - The Purity Myth, Yes Means Yes, and - admittedly more fun than those - The Handmaid's Tale (again), which means that guys at bars are getting lots of drunken dissertations from me about the wage gap, abstinence-only education and enthusiastic consent. I have to give it to anyone who can sit through one of these - that kind of dedication is reserved only for men who really, really think I'm the most attractive girl in the establishment. Or guys who actually care about feminism... and I'm batting for the first. Just sayin'. Diablo, on the other hand, will sit on my feet for hours on end while I read, fold pages, underline, and journal.

On top of the other excessive writing I've been indulging in lately, I've also started keeping a dream journal. I thought, at first, about making a dream blog, but I would probably end up omitting some information in the name of my reputation of a person who has retained some sanity. I've been having some pretty vivid dreams, lately, probably as a result of my overtaxed mind, which has nothing to do but run circles around itself. Maybe the next time I have a PG-13 dream that doesn't make me appear to be a total lunatic (this definitely excludes the epic quest dream I had the other night about a nuclear laser attack), I'll share it on the blog.

I've kind of enjoyed unemployment, which is not to say that I'm not looking for a new job. But having some time for homework, leisure reading, and drinking on weeknights (not that I didn't do all those things while I had a job - but now I'm fitting them in more neatly) has not been such a bad thing. I feel like I've actually had time to attend to my classes, which is good, because I haven't been doing as well this semester as I did in the spring. I'm actually playing catch-up in my Enlightenment class, which is something I've never done before - and I really like this class, but it just kind of fell by the wayside during the course of everything else that was going on. Grr. I hate feeling like I'm not in control of my academic success.

Other than in terms of morale, though, I don't feel like I've been hit all that hard by joblessness, yet. Actually, I found a pair of VS Pink pants at My Sister's Closet yesterday for $3! If I continue to bargain shop at this rate, I can maintain my unemployed state for YEARS, provided I don't drive anywhere or buy any of my own food. What's for dinner, Mom and Dad?

Today, I had a lot of things to say about how I lost my job, and, thusly, about attourneys, about the EEOC, and, basically, a lot of miscellaneous bitchings. I thought about putting these things in my blog. But, instead, I told them to Pickles.

I just thought about this tonight, although it happened a few weeks ago, and realized that I have some things to say about it.

Once upon a time, when I went to John Brown, I was acquainted with this guy, by which I mean we saw each other in the cafeteria every once-in-awhile, and had about two mutual friends. We never hung out or really talked, but I saw him at a party once-in-awhile, so, at some point, one of us must have added the other to our Facebook, because there he was, a few weeks ago, IMing me. I ignored him, because I never really knew him, and he seemed pretty boring. He kept on IMing me though, so eventually, I was bored enough/drunk enough to listen to whatever it was that he had to say, so I IMed him back. You know, "hey," or something like that. And then it's like:

Him: "I saw your pictures, and it looks like you're a lot of fun."

Okay, well, this is a fair assertion, and not a completely weird thing to say. I'm thinking to myself, maybe he graduated and moved to Dallas, and is looking for someone to hang out with. So I reply with something like "Yeah, I'm more fun than you or your grandmother can handle." or something equally inane. And then...

Him: "So, do you drink?"
Me: "Uhm. Did you fail to notice the staple beer in my hand in almost all of my Facebook pictures?"
Him: "No. I wasn't looking at that (totally creepy winking face)."
Me: "Uhm, okay."
Him: "Well, as I said, I wasn't looking at the beer. So, do you drink?"
Me: "Yeeeah."
Him: "Are you wild?"
Me: "Define wild."
Him: "You know... with guys."
Me: "You mean, do I have sex? No. Of course not. I'm 22. I spend most of my time at home, knitting potholders."

There are SO many things wrong with this conversation, I don't even know where to start. First of all: nice way to point out that you were looking at my tits, asshole. Yeah, I know that my Facebook pictures are hot, but I also have, you know, a profile. With information about myself. That you could at least GLANCE over, before you make the mistake of going straight for the boobs. But, whatever. On top of that, the whole issue of wildness really confused me. Did he mean Girls-Gone-Wild wild, or just plain getting-wasted-and-passing-out-in-strange-places wild? No, apparently he meant a kind of wild I've never heard of - the kind where you have SEX. Since when is sex wild? Since you are lonely, horny, and newly-graduated from John Brown, I guess.

Anyway, for some reason, I allowed this conversation to continue. I basically asked why he was IMing me and saying this shit, if he wasn't even in the area (I had recently gained knowledge of the fact that he was currently located in San Antonio), to which he replied: "Do you not think I would drive up to Dallas for a good blow job?"

Um, yeah. Where did the whole blow job thing come from? Oh yeah, it must be because I'm a woman. We LOVE to give blow jobs. Especially me. The fact that I'm in a bikini in some of my Facebook pictures just automatically means that I must be a penis-hungry slut, and will totally suck any dick that takes the trouble to drive to Dallas for me. Or, you know, NOT.

And so, the conversation ended with him asking for my number, and me deleting him from my Facebook.

This is the moral of the story:
If you are a guy (or, hell, a girl!), and you think my Facebook photos are hot - great! Leave a photo comment. One that is at least a little appropriate, though, cuz, hey, I'm not fully-naked on there or anything, which means that it's not the best venue for you to discuss how much you want to teabag me.

But if you want to take it further and actually talk to me, you could at least bother to feign some interest in something other than my "wildness". Read my profile and talk to me about my favorite books or something, or, hell, ask me how my day was. Just remember that Facebook is not a DATING website, nor is it an adult-friend-finding website, and I am not there to solicit sex from you. So don't bother. And, if you do, at least be smart enough to tone down the creep factor for me at least a LITTLE bit, and avoid jumping straight to the conclusion that, because I have had sex with another guy before, I must therefore be willing to do it with you - ESPECIALLY if you drive all the way to Dallas.