I have somewhere to be in 45 minutes, this is going to be trash. But I’m literally going to die if I don’t write something like, yesterday.
(I snuck back in and edited this.)
So, The Thirty is coming. Knocking on my door, tapping on my window, kicking that bitch in when I don’t answer. (Duh, that is what this blog has always been about.) Here are some of the things I have been told happen when you turn 30, or should happen by 30:
-“Give up miniskirts”- My mother, with one of the many lies, lies, lies she has told me over the years with the absolute best of intentions.
-“You’re supposed to have a career and family”-The World. I have this, but, well, you know…still filling in some key gaps.
-“Your sex drive goes crazy”-Every woman I know over 30.
Now, that’s something I can work with.
I’m not the type of person who would share the intimate details of my actual sex life (Do I have one? Maybe, maybe not, IDK. If I’m sleeping you, that is the only way you would know that.) But there are some general things that I feel comfy discussing. Let’s have girl talk, but it’s not just us girls, it’s the internet. Pop popcorn and come braid my hair.
Let’s start with the fact that I have recently become completely, COMPLETELY obsessed with lingerie. Like, there are 3 lingerie sites that I check almost daily and why are there so many dirty pretty things? I need them all. ALL OF THEM. In a “me, right now” and size “when I drop these last 10 [okay,17] pounds.” So, I buy it, but I’m afraid to buy as much as I want because I fear I will jinx myself and never have sex again.
Have I explained the Rule of Jamilah before? If I wear rain boots, it’s sunny. Sandals, and a monsoon hits. I pack good dresses for a trip, and have nowhere to go. Travel light, there’s parties every night. And if I have too much good lingerie, I will find myself without anyone good to see it. These truths is mad self-evident, B.
Also, I think about sex a lot more than I ever have at any point in my life. It is so present and important. I think the rapid descent into an old thirty bastard is real. It’s not a myth, I don’t know myself anymore.
I see the sexy in women of all shades, sizes, ages and backgrounds, as I always have. My eye is more discerning when it comes to men, however. It’s broad enough to keep me happy and narrow enough to keep me safe. However, my sense of what makes me sexy is ever evolving. And this particular moment in Black (Tan? lol) pop culture is bringing a certain sexual…thing to the forefront of my consciousness that is attacking my sensual self-esteem (Sensual sense of self? Sense of self as sexy?)
Everyone is wearing 7 pounds of hair, 3 pounds of makeup, 2 Spanx and a corset. Butt shots and boob lifts and target lipo, oh my. When I first moved to NY, the flyness of the women required an immediate stepping up of my game. Which I did and my love/like life/Personal Sense of Sexy improved like crazy. I’m dating and meeting guys pretty regularly here, but compared to this new phenomenon of women looking like they stepped straight of the set of a music video or ‘Wives’ franchise, I feel mad regular.
I do not need or want affirmation. I am just saying things I feel. I don’t want anyone to tell me that I’m good enough. What an awful disclaimer, what an awful thing to discourage the kindness of others. But musings about insecurities usually lead to such and I am 100% sure that none of those niceties will move the needle, not for me, and I just want to own some of my fuckedupness and share it with others, who may be able to relate. Good tidings ain’t give me Tahiry’s body, so I cannot do anything with them.
I might get some work done, no bullshit. .
I hope Dirty 30 is just that and as sexually exciting and fulfilling as I have been promised. I don’t do celibacy. (I read something today where a woman said she had colleagues that had gone 5, 10 years without sex and she tied it to their career pursuits. I can’t even deal with that as a concept. I think I could go 5-10 years without a lunch break much easier.) I’ve had a period defined by a lack of interest in sex, but the idea of just choosing not to or being too busy, no. That can’t happen.
I think part of what makes 30 a sexy time for women, (aside from the fact that we know how to do some stuff now, you know?) is the increased self acceptance and sense of personal fulfillment. I don’t know if I want to ever accept myself so much that I don’t agonize over my appearance. That’s probably not very feminist of me, but my everything is flawed, so rejoice and be glad or mad, or whatever. But insecurity aside, I know the “I’m a grown woman, I do whatever I want” feeling I have at 29 certainly helps keep my pursuit of personal peak sexiness moving forward. I’m hoping 30 is even more lascivious, and with more lace.