I Am Lana Del Rey’s Maligned Vagine

When I started writing, I wrote pieces focused on celebrity body parts in relation to life.  I have missed writing about things like being leaky colons and constipated assholes, so I thought I’d come back to an old style.  Today, I am focusing on a vagina.

Dating articles make me generally homicidal: especially when I see headlines like “Ladies, what you’re doing to push him away.” or “What girls can do to catch the guy and keep him”.  The latter headline seems more like an advert for Stephen King’s Misery than dating advice, so yes, if stalking is your bag, go ahead.  

A year or so ago, I was elbows deep in every online dating app desperately searching for the one after my the one ended.  Not one to learn lessons from my mistakes, I was continuing to look for someone else to love me because I was scared to be alone, I wasn’t generally a big fan of myself, and I wasn’t happy.  I found myself using dating apps to give myself some sort of bizarre validation. “Guys are matching me, telling me I’m pretty, giving me attention, etc.”

I can save you articles worth of reading, I can save you from reading this if it’s truly abhorrent thus far: if you want to find someone, find yourself, okay? (no don’t go!)

Apparently, Instagram is also a dating site.  In that, I am a woman so men contact me via direct messages and interview me to see if I am a suitable companion. What this has to do with my amazing ham and provolone crepe that I posted today, I don’t know. Apparently, crepes mean I’m on the prowl.  

 

I am getting messages every day from weird men seemingly running through a checklist of questions and letting me know if my responses are adequate.  Gone are the days of ebb and flow conversation where you learn about a person.  Instagram and dating sites alike, you are interviewed about your specifics, preferences, and depending on the site, sexual proclivities.  “Do you like anal?” is a perfectly good conversation opener, amirite?

I can’t do small talk, I never could.  I am unsure how anal falls in the size of talks, but I don’t do that well either.  

(Actually, I make up extremely vivid, graphic, disturbing responses until I am hopefully blocked.)  Inevitably, I stop responding if I even respond at all, because I grow weary of answering questions. I get talking to strangers might be intimidating, but I didn’t even instigate the convo. I was posting a picture of my small cucumber in my pathetic garden. (hmm…maybe that’s my problem. Nix phallic vegetables)

When I listen to Lana Del Rey, I always get a surge of girl power, which is nice, because I am female. While I am writing from the perspective of a vagina, I am not trying to do some sort of guy vs. girl debate here. I think we are all amazing, regardless of what does or does not dangle between our thighs. Listening to LDR though, I actually started realizing no amount of swipes, interviews, or awkward first dates were going to help me be happy. I had to learn how to be happy without anyone sitting across from me at the restaurant, or in the passenger seat as I’m driving around singing (amazingly well). Once I focused on enjoying my time with myself, I found it difficult to want to spend time with other people, to be honest.

These articles have this hyperfocus on making you ___ to make other people love/like/want to sleep with you.

The problem is that articles use words.  Words are not good for intangibles like emotions or even personalities.  Yes, they are helpful descriptors, but in truth, are you “down to earth”? Do you really love doing “low key” things? These words are amazing for algorithms, but a correlation of interests do not equal causation of a relationship.

If you are trying to date, learn how to talk.

The reality is conversations are what get people interested in people. People making each other laugh, sharing common interests that aren’t answered with y/n, but more “Yeah I was reading ___ and it was awesome.” to which you say “Oh wow, me too, and I like ___” This is how these things work, I think.  I miss being flirted with or just being spoken to like a human entity as opposed to Future Ex Mrs. Ian Malcolm.  It’s awesome that people reach out to people out of the blue to try and spark a connection, but this shit is like trying to ignite a turd with a scooter.  If you want someone to love you, show them why you love you.  Look if anal is what you are really passionate about then go for it.  Be all about anal and I’m sure you’ll find someone who is as big an anal fan as you.  It’s much more interesting than giving lists of adjectives.  Articles can’t tell you about you, and honestly, someone being awkwardly themselves is far more interesting than asking/answering questions.  I’m not saying if you start digging yourself more, you won’t be lonely, but maybe you won’t feel the need to follow 200 women on Instagram and message them…?

We’re social creatures and we want affection.  I’m not trying to make fun of people trying to date, rather the articles that seem to make you think if you fit buzz words you will find your future Mr. or Mrs.  I’m also not some sort of high frocked prude saying I would never hook-up (because that’s a lie).  There just seems to be so much pressure to “find the right one”, “find one right now” and all this bullshit. There is this innate expectation now that you need to have all of these matching characteristics to prevent whatever disaster put you on “the hunt” in the first place while being the perfect match for the other person on the hunt.  Add to this nonsense an expectation of some sort of love at first sight, after completing a few pre-screens, and you have of people bitching about dating sites, being single, and the opposite sex.

All of us different people with different dangling bits are being lumped into huge marketing segments with our lives being formed averages and norms.

The worst part is, we’re now communicating with each other like it!

These “getting to know you” chats are more like prepping for a tax audit.  We’re not metrics, we’re people.  Chemistry is very real and very important.  I have had amazing conversations with people online, thinking I have found the future Mr. Ex-ButtItches, meet them, and spend most of my time trying to come up with a clever excuse to leave immediately.  In this hyper-focus of finding the right person to meet all the desired specifications, there’s no room for life to… find a way.  

Conversation is a dying art, and everyone seems to be a bunch of wounded weirdos tossing boomerangs of fear, pain, angst, and baggage around at each other.  There are a lot of genuinely hurting people out there, and with life being what it is, I think a lot of people are genuinely craving connection and love while simultaneously being scared of it. Even the fuckboys are fucking their way towards (or away from) something.  This shit though, we’re not getting to know someone, we’re learning marketing facts.

I want someone to spark my imagination, creativity, or my goddamn libido.

As I went into this unfamiliar territory of digging myself, I started finding things out about myself. Casual tidbits that would be useful in my current Instagram interviews like, my interests, hobbies, and what makes me happy, but don’t fit in drop down boxes or 500 character profiles.  If we’re all going to give each other sound bites of information, lie about our interests and intention to make the other person like us, and contort ourselves like dicks in space, there will continue to be a lot of people bitching about dating sites, being single, and the opposite sex.

I don’t think I’m alone in this.  My vagina is very tired of being interviewed.  My vagina misses the art of conversation and meeting weirdos like me, not weirdos giving interviews.  Everybody is a person with a personality, and if you want to have better connections, or get that special someone, maybe stop talking to people like you are hiring a position.  To sum up a lot of words, “All I wanna do is get high by the beach get high baby baby bye bye.”