Angry Bitch.

A Rant.

Hello, readers.

The past 24 hours, well, really the past 6 months of my freshman year of college life have been a ride. The main reason? No, it wasn’t grades. No, it wasn’t friend drama. No, my roommate isn’t a crazy lunatic (although she does steal my food! grrr.).

No — it was because of a boy.

I’m not saying my name here — all you need to know is that I am a straight girl going attending a small liberal arts school in Southern California.

These past months, as I said, have been a ride. A boy tells you he loves you, but over the course of six months he takes you on two dates, and rather than spend a nice evening with you, he goes off with his friends and drops acid. On more than one occasion. Also, Thursdays are his “night off” to basically not give a fuck about you and not worry about having to return your texts while he goes and drinks himself silly.

Some time goes by — it is three months into the relationship. You lose your virginity to him — something you were raised was not a silly social construct, but something sacred and to be thought about before letting go of it — and life seems pretty beautiful, besides the fact that often he’d rather use substances than be with you and the fact that he is never on top during sex because his scrawny little hipster arms can’t hold his stick body up. —- (Poor thing once collapsed on me in the middle of it all. Notice I said “once” because that was the last and only time. )

Well, he broke up with you a week ago, you are hurt, but summer is coming soon and some other guys have already asked to take you on dates. You’re flattered, but are not ready to let go.

Then last night, your friend comes up to you and tells you that ex-boyfriend has been “fucking” a girl in your class who is known to sleep around and to have mental issues. Then you learn that it was cheating. Then you learn that the girl, who added you on Facebook only two weeks before, knew you were with him.

They can have fun with that next year when they are suite mates (Really, ya’ll are GENIUSES you little fucks!).

Your life seems shattered. It is the weekend before finals. Here you sit writing this sappy blog, not knowing what else to do but share these hurtful stories and hope that they help someone else get through something similar.

First of all, readers, whether you are entering college or you are forty years old trying out the dating experience after your divorce, I hope this helps in some way, because the only thing worse than a sap writing down her feelings on the internet is a sap who has nothing interesting to say.

We’re done with story time. Here’s what an angry bitch has to say.

First. Step one, make sure the fuck can hold him/herself up during sex.

Moving on.

Second. One of the things I’m feeling is used. The words trash, whore, slut, and easy come to mind. Am I any of these things? No.

In fact, why the fuck do these words even exist?

Even if I were a girl (or boy) who drinks, goes to parties, and sleeps with randos, I’d still argue that I wouldn’t deserve to be called these things. Now, I don’t think that that is the healthiest way to live, and I don’t condone it, but seriously? These words are the best we have for insecurity, sadness, or feeling empty? Or fuck it, just horny? Cause all you fucks know you wouldn’t be around if people didn’t get horny.

In fact, I now more men (well, boys) who sleep around and is there ONE word equivalent to the words we have for girls? No. Call him a douche, call him an asshole, call him a jerk, but there is no equivalent.

slut (n.): a woman who has many casual partners.

whore (n.): a female prostitute.

now, watch this:

douche (n.): an obnoxious or contemptible person, typically a MAN.

Note how douche comes from the word “douchebag” which is a FEMALE contraceptive measure.

So, a) these words should not exist.

Third. So while I have been sad all day, feeling like I am these things — I let this asshole’s actions (or lack of…did I mention he sucks at sex?) define me. I’ve cried multiple times, I’ve hated myself for letting this happen, I’ve blamed myself for feeling like shit — meanwhile the little shit is probably poking his dick around having fun.

So this “definition” thing. I’m not a “whore”, I’m not a “slut”, but I am letting myself feel this way because of how SOMEONE ELSE treated me and the way HE treats women. In this scenario, if there is going to be one, HE is the slut, HE is the whore, but because there are no words to describe a male who sleeps around and because our society, bless its progressive little soul, is still fucked up, I let the blame fall to me.

Ladies, you can’t let yourself fall into these female/male stereotypes. You have power.

Another thing that is helping me is thinking of the person he was when I lost it to him and how much that meant to me. Seeing him as two different people really, really helps.

Fourth. As a side note, you know what I’ve always hated? The phrase my sex-ed teacher told us in the 7th grade: “Girls, your body is a temple, be careful of who you let in it.”

Well FUCK that.

Maybe you should tell boys to think more about where they are going into. Maybe you make THEM do the thinking.

But oh wait, girls, boys think with their dicks so they can’t help it!

I know, I know, its a harmless phrase telling girls to respect their bodies and have the respect of those entering, but seriously? Tell some guys to get their dicks a GPS.