A Rose By Any Other Name Is Still A Slut.

While my ex seems to be content with popping up on my cell phone's screen at all hours of the night, now plagued with a need to reconcile after all this radio silence, my S.O's ex didn't seemingly take to the news that he was seeing someone new so well, which has resulted in such jewels as "Makes more sense now; Carissa is a whore's name :)," popping up on HIS cell phone's screen.

I Googled. There seem to be no whores named Carissa. At least, none with websites or internet access.

While it's not the first time I've been called a whore-- let's be serious, this blog's name is "Sex and the College Girl," not, "Aeronautical Nuances of the 21st Century and How They Effected Young Women,"-- it still bothered me more than I thought it would. I think the hardest part for me is that I've been on both sides of the equation that I currently find myself in, and so, I have empathy for my S.O's ex, even if she did call me a slut. Her life was torn apart when she realized her ex had moved on and started seeing someone else, and I've been there, too. While she feels emotionally (and maybe physically) cheated on, I've also been both cheated on, as well as the cheatee, in previous relationships. All in all, it leads to a confusing war of emotions-- part of me wants to land a good right hook on her nose for calling me a whore when I have done absolutely nothing wrong (or whore-like,) while the other, greater, more Gandhi-like part of me wants to help comfort her and work her through this, since I have the knowledge and experience on how to survive something like this from before. If we were men, it would be so much easier. We'd have a good rough-and-tumble fist-fight, and then we'd be best bros. Instead, it all just gets to be awkward and I get to live in fear of opening his bathroom door after a shower, dripping wet, naked, and vulnerable, to find her standing there when I'm home alone at his place. Have I mentioned that she apparently has 8 inches on me? Yikes.

But maybe, it's not all so cut-and-dried. As I guiltily found out when the ex cheated on me, it's easy to hate someone you don't know. I was CONVINCED the girl he'd slept with was born with the express purpose to ruin my life, be a bitch, and look horrible in her Facebook profile photos. (There may have been many, many catty references to her resembling a wall-eyed bass. Not my finest moments.) But gradually, I started to realize that she probably A.) Had no idea I even existed, and B.) Was just looking for the same sort of love I was. Unfortunately, we were both looking for it from the same guy, but all the same, I couldn't fault her wanting her happy ending. And so, little by little, I started to forgive. The other day, thinking about her, about me, and about my S.O's ex in the current situation, I looked the ex's indiscretion up again. And you know what? She looked good. She looked happy. And not even the least little bit fishy. Maybe it had just all been me, being a cat-fish.

Then again, maybe it wasn't. The other night, at dinner, my S.O mentioned something inside-joke-like in passing about his mother, a different women than his father is currently seeing. I happened to be looking at his dad's girlfriend when he said it, and I saw a look flash across her face as quickly as it was then gone. But I recognized it. It's the same look ALL women, when the name of the woman who came before, or who they're afraid will come after, adopt as soon as the syllables hang in the span of air between mouth and ear. As I sat at our table in the dining room of the Woodstock Inn and looked at my S.O's father and his girlfriend, it hit me-- The ex-girlfriends of our past and present are only going to become the first, second, and ex-wives of our future. And it'll still be just as difficult, awkward, and confusing as it is now, so we just might as well get used to it, and get good at letting all the flack slide off of our shoulders. So here's to turning the other cheek and waiting for the day when she knows better than to think I'm actually a whore, or that I ever meant to hurt her. Because I, possibly more than most other girls, know both the exquisite pleasure AND pain that comes from these sort of relationships past-yet-still-present. I've been in those tight size 8 shoes, and it's not a fun trip, not in the least.

XOXO

NOT Waiting For It

Because I'm so flat-broke, instead of my monthly girl-fest Secret Single Behavior of buying the new issues of Glamour and Cosmopolitan and slowly spending an afternoon reading them somewhere quiet with a coffee and regaining my sanity, I've been trolling their online sites to read for free, instead. Not quiet as relaxing, as I've always preferred the tangible, but it does lend something new to the experience: reader's comments.

At the bottom of "16 Sneaky Acts of Seduction," on Glamour.com, an 18 year old reader said that she felt really behind still being a virgin when other "kids my age are already having babies & stuff. i do sometimes wonder how it would feel lk to be sexualy active," and asked the other readers if she should continue waiting to have sex until she finds the right guy, or if she should "just have fun or whatever?"

In my honest opinion, if you're not having fun in life, then you're doing something wrong. And I don't think she's missing out on "having babies & stuff" at the age of 18-- that's a huge fun-dampener. But the other reader's results to her questions were of a resounding "wait for it" lean. Not to diminish their reasons, which include:

"...Your first time is hardly ever good. It hurts and you might bleed a lot,"

"If you just have fun it has it's cons. You might get attached and he doesn't want a relationship. Or you think he's one person and find out he's another. He could just use you for sex. You could be lied to and find out he has an std,"

"I think sex is so much better when you have a connection with the person. Girls like to cuddle. Girls get more attached than guys, so if you get a guy who doesn't care about you, it will be emotionally stressful,"

Or, my personal favorite, the 25 year old virgin who is getting married to her fiancee who started dating her trying to win a bet with his friends about who would have sex first back in high school. He obviously lost that one, and I really cringe to think about waiting for and then marrying the sort of guy who made a BET about getting laid, because that just screams of a relationship that is built to last and come to fruition in a marriage.

But why does there never seem to be someone saying the opposite and telling these girls that not "waiting for it" doesn't mean you're a slut-bucket who's going straight to hell in a handbasket and will never find a man who respects them?

I'm now 21 and have slept with 5 men. I've had good sex, I've had bad sex, I've had weird sex, and I've had great sex. I'd had lots of sex, and I've had really long dry spells, too. Personally, I've never regretted any of it, even given the fact that the dude I lost my virginity to was probably the worst choice in the world. Like, I couldn't have picked any better (or worse?) if I had run "How Do You Not Fit The Qualifications?" interviews for the job. (This was also the guy I couldn't be bothered to muster up the energy to break up with, if it tells you anything about our entire un-apathetic union.) But I was 16, I was sick of it, and I just wanted to get it over with. I partially chose him because he was available, and he was older, which I assumed would mean he had more experience with sex than I did. "The first time" wasn't a huge deal to me. Yeah, it did hurt, but I really hate when women try to convince other women that you are going to bleed like Old Faithful and not be able to walk for a week. Coming from my point of view, another one of those "How Are You So Not Right For This?" qualifications that my first boyfriend met was that he was basically packing a third leg. Not so great the first time, but it got much better afterwards. And I could walk just fine, thanks.

So, to re-cap thus-far, for you vestigial virgins out there: Yes, it will be uncomfortable the first few times. There may be bleeding. There may be soreness. It may be really freaking awkward. NO first-time-having-sex you will EVER have with someone new will ever be spectacular-- you don't know how the other works, how your bodies mesh, or what makes each other tick.

Yes, you may get attached to Mr. Lying, Usurious, Herpes-Laden Committmaphobe. Unfortunately, our brains have some pretty fucked-up wiring when it comes to sex and emotions, and you can never really account for who you have a connection with. (Case in point, I've had some remarkable connections with flings, while dead connection lines with committed boyfriends.) But next time you meet a lying, usurious, herp-infested player, you get smarter, and (hopefully) pass him by for someone else. Yes, it's going to be emotionally stressful, but it's all part of life and learning. You learn, your taste and judgement in men gets better, are you're more likely to end up picking someone who actually is the right person for you than pinning all your hopes and hymen on someone you don't really know deeply or intimately right out of the gate. I've come a long way since my Couldn't-Be-Bothered first boyfriend. I've learned a lot about men, and myself, and it really has changed and shaped me. If I had stuck it out and waited for Mr. Right to fall into my lap, I'd be relationship- and emotionally-stunted when he finally came around, and probably fumble him right out of my life.

And, not all girls like to cuddle. Jesus, stop with this assumption, and please, give me some space at night.

Who knows if the guy you think is Mr. Right Wedding Bells right NOW is going to be Mr. Right Forever and Always LATER? Divorce rates in the U.S are over 50%, so the chances are halved that the man you lose you virginity to, IN MARRIAGE, could very possibly not be the man you die beside and are buried next to, a la "The Notebook." Romance really has no place in the relationship between sex and marriage. Please stop reading Nicholas Sparks and start reading "Dating, Mating, and Manhandling."

Maybe I could be so blase about it because I knew it wasn't the guy that I'd be marrying, and, in fact, maybe a large part of my decision was the fact I was (and still am) pretty sure I never did want to get married. Since then, not once, not ever have I regretted losing my virginity, either at all, or to a different man then the ones I've loved. Maybe I'm just a shameless new-age hussy, but the other thing that I can't wrap my head around is that waiting for marriage is basically like buying the car without seeing if it starts or runs first. Sex is IMPORTANT. You're never going to be happy in a relation where the sex is bad, especially if it's marriage. Frankly, the only thing that the sex I've had has convinced me of is the fact that whenever I sleep with someone new, I'm thankful for my previous experiences, as they've given me the tips, tricks, and sanity to deal with pretty much whatever is thrown my way.

So maybe that makes me a slut. If it does, well then, this slut is going to be ludicrously happy having good sex for the rest of her life, and if you get stuck in a sex-less marriage because you waited for "The One" and now you're unhappy and feel cheated and want to divorce him, send me a postcard and let me know how that's going for you, ok? Great. Thanks.

XOXO

"...And Let Them Have Whatever The Hell They Want."

Thought of the day: Have sex with as many people as you want to.

Seriously.

I don't mean this in a "Go get massively plastered and fuck whatever doesn't move away fast enough" sense-- I mean this in a "If you like them enough to want to sleep with them, do it if you can, because curiosity killed the cat, and not enough sex kills your libido."

In the face of my January 24th departure to Italy, my horizontal planning has gone into over-drive. We're in the middle of November now, people. I have roughly 2 months to have as much safe, non-stranger, U.S sex as I can. And I see no reason why, at this point, it has to be limited to one person.

I guess this has come in the face of facts: leaving in roughly two months, I have no time/desire/realistic ability to start a relationship. Yes, even me, Miss One Month, realizes that even trying to start something would be an exercise in futility. I can see it now-- "Oh yeah, sweetie, we'll be together here for about two months-- excluding Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, and then the fact I have no housing in Burlington for all of January before I leave-- and then I'm going to be away for 4 months, expecting you to remain faithful, expecting me to keep my hands to myself and off of the hot European men's perfectly denim-clad asses; maybe you'll fly out to meet up with me for Spring Break, or maybe we'll try to pick things up when I come back mid-May and pretend like there's not now MASSIVE differences between us, and I am fully thinking that you've slept your way around behind my back."

Sounds like a great arrangement, right?

Nope. I'm becoming practical. And "practical" for me means realizing that while Gypsy and I are casually casually CASUALLY seeing each other-- (read: emphasis on the "casually." I mean like, we see each other once a week, and I have yet to throw him a bone or, hahaha, get boned)-- actually trying to date him would be the death of me. Especially with his habit of abruptly leaving to go someplace with no explanation. He did that last night, to go get pizza with some other friends, and I had Greece Lightning walk to my car (AFTER HE ADMINISTERED A FIELD SOBRIETY TEST ON ME-- this is why you don't want Criminal Justice major friends, people,) and just left.

I am not the kind of girl who just sits around and waits.

I am, however, the type of girl who spends her weekend in Montreal alternately discussing religion with top professors and academics in their fields, getting stumble-drunk wasted in bars, and thinking about how really, I would just like to casually sleep with Gypsy at this point, and that is about all, folks. I would like some good, old-fashioned, unattached, college sex.

...I love a religion that lets you drink too much, fornicate frequently, and be scholastic all at the same time.

Meanwhile, Southern Charm has invited me over to his place on Tuesday night to watch "Sons of Anarchy" and have beer. If that doesn't seem like just the best evening ever, I don't know what is. (That is a love train I would very much so like to hop on, thankyouverymuch.) (SoCharm...if you're reading this...never, ever mention anything. Let me believe I am living in an unawkward world. Keep the dream for me.)

...Some of this may be because I have always been horrible at picking favorites.

Also, today is the day of Jersey Blunt's memorial here on campus. I might be speaking. At very least, I'll be there with the SoHo Boys thinking about our missing part.

Life is short. Live it up; don't waste it.

XOXO

Taking Back "Slut": Self-Marketing and Dating in the 21st Century

King of Couture Valentino once said, "I love sluts. They're some of the kindest people I know." I have to say, I'm rapidly gaining on appreciation of this quote. First, it was when my mother looked at my profile picture and said, "You're looking a little trampy again, dear." Then, it was when Alli looked at me the other day and said, "I don't get what you find appealing about being a slut." Am I? Am I a slut?

Webster's dictionary defines "slut" as, "a slovenly woman; a promiscuous girl; or a saucy girl." I decided to look up "slovenly," just to be clear-- it means "sloppy in appearance." I then looked up "promiscuous"-- "not restricted to one sexual partner."

Well, in this case: A.) Yes, some mornings, like yesterday, I do feel extremely sloppy in appearance. I do believe what I actually said about it was, "Wow, I feel like such a scrub today."
B.) Well, I have not been restricted to one sexual partner.
And C.) A saucy girl? Damn, you got me there!

So, I guess I am a slut. But in today's world, "slut" seems to be used synonymously for "whore," and this is where I put my foot down. I am not having enough sex to be considered as the modern version of a slut. I really wish I were, though. In fact, I am not having sex right now, period. I go through self-imposed dry spells far too often to be considered a slut. I'm also notoriously choosy about who I kiss, let alone sleep with. If you can please point me in the direction of all these men you think I am sleeping with, I would love to shake them by the hand and say "congratulations!" And also, possibly-- "do you want to make the rumors true?"

But if we take the attributes of a slut-- the provocative clothing, the bluntness of sexuality and a frankness in talking about it-- then yes, I might be what people would call a slut. Dating, relationships, and especially sex are important to me. Those are the things I find fascinating, but also find most people don't talk enough about truthfully, candidly, and personally. Sex is how the human race continues-- relationships and dating are what gets us there. (Most of the time.) (Unless you really are a big slut.) (I love you.) I can't tell you how many times people have said to me, "the same thing is happening to me" or "I'm so glad you said that because I never would, but I feel the same way." Furthermore, I write a blog called "Sex and the College Girl." Would you really take me seriously as someone who knew what she was talking about if I looked the same way I do on any given day in my profile picture, or is that same infamous picture that makes my mother cringe what helps give me my credibility? Is my cleavage helping you trust in me? Is my cleavage giving me credibility?

...That makes me giggle every time I write it. Obviously, I don't take myself too seriously. Another reason why I'm (for the most part) fine when someone calls me a slut.

Most of life today is about selling yourself as something-- in the workplace, in your education, in your personal and love lives. Self-marketing (to go back to the Chanel quote from the "Irreplaceable" post,) is what sets you apart. I've run into situations in life as a retail employee, as a student, and as a girl someone was dating in which self-marketing became a paramount focus. In dating itself, a woman has to market herself as many things, as Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, and Meredith Brooks all explored-- you must be virginal and farm-fresh when meeting parents; laid-back and boy-like yourself with chillin' with a significant other's buddies; and by turns ferocious or soft in the bedroom. Meeting your S.O's parents for the first time? All about self-marketing, because believe me, a good job selling yourself as "such a nice girl" does a lot to cancel out the fact that his mother knows you are also the girl sucking her baby boy's dick. Women, it appears, are marketing geniuses.

There are different levels to selling yourself, I have learned, and they can be used interchangeably between your professional and personal life. Meeting someone to talk face-to-face trumps any other way of communicating to get a point across, be it a raise, or asking the guy you're seeing what is going on between the two of you. It is much harder to be turned down in person-- this is true, and this is the A-bomb in your arsenal. No one likes to disappoint anyone to their face. If you want something from someone, you have to get in theirs. From there on, voice-on-voice interaction on the phone is personal. Tone carries. People get attached to certain voices. Text is good in a pinch because it's nearly instantaneous, but then, it's just your thumbs touching, or "thumbs fucking," as my same mother who despairs in my profile picture, calls it. (If she only knew how much literal "thumb fucking" Perfect and I have done via text...the text charges would make sense to her.) Email is the worst way to try to prove a point (or the grandparent of email-- letter writing,), because so much time can lapse between the events of it being written, and it actually getting read. And then, you are separated by time and place and distance. You will never know how the other person actually took it when they read it. Sometimes, seeing a person's eyebrows flash in the moment of reading will tell you more than the formal and well-thought-out response they will give you, if any at all. Instantaneous satisfaction and knowledge is the difference between vocal and written communication.

How do women market themselves, you ask? What is selling yourself in dating? (And no, I don't mean prostitution.) How can someone use marketing techniques to further their dating game? How does it apply?

Easily. Be the hottest commodity out there. Assess your competition (other women), the needs of your client (the man you're after), and then explore how you can fill those needs not offered. Dating itself is favorably marketing yourself. What services do you offer? What are the benefits of being with you? I'm not suggests you change yourself to become "more desirable" and become someone that who you're not-- instead, conduct a mental revenue list of what is so great about yourself that it draws men to you and makes them want to be with you. Work on improving areas you're not so hot in-- communication, for me. Work even harder in areas you already rock in so that you blow the rest of the competition out of the water, and possibly, even out of the scene.

The concept of selling yourself brings you back to the concept of being a slut. Maybe I am a slut for how well I market myself as a sex, love, and relationship columnist. Maybe I am a slut for how well I appeal to men-- not just as a girl to date, hook up with, and have sex with, but also a a friend. You can argue that any woman who markets herself as a favorable dating candidate or a successful business woman is a slut. If so, then I'm going to say it loud: I'M PROUD TO BE A SLUT.

XOXO