I am not a Cougar!

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Read title with full Arnold accent

 

So I’ve been showing a picture of my boyfriend to my friends. It’s so nice to have a boyfriend to brag about! And my friends were probably tired of seeing pics of all the cats I know. So it’s exciting!  But almost everyone has said “oh, he’s much younger than you!” And no, he’s not! He’ll be 45 at the end of the month, I’ll be 46 before Christmas. We’re essentially the same age.

I am NOT a cougar!

I’ve written about the cougar double standard before.  It’s bullshit. Women who are with younger men are dubbed predatory animals while men are just dubbed…men. With a congratulatory pat on the back. This is infuriating.

And now I’m feeling like people will think I’m his mother or maybe an elderly aunt? Fuck.

Its probably all the grey hair. It’s about to reach that critical mass tipping point where I am no longer a brunette going grey, I’m just…grey. I love my grey hair.  It’s gorgeous.  But I don’t want to look old! Yet another double standard. Ugh.

Men are “distinguished” with grey hair. Women are told to cover that shit up with toxic dye until they die. Fuck that.

“Andy” loves my grey hair. He thinks it’s sexy AF. So I’m not so worried. But if someone thinks I’m his mom I will go full cougar on their ass and bite their head off. Grrrrrrrr.

Ive got 4 full days left in Iceland. The fifth day I’ll be going home where elskan mín will be waiting for me at the airport. He doesn’t even have a car, he’s taking the bus to pick me up! That’s true love right there.

Ive always dreaded leaving my beloved country of Iceland. I literally have cried each time I’ve left, actual tears.  This time is different. I want to stay forever and I also can’t wait to get back home. It’s such a strange dichotomy of emotions. But I know it means that I’m in love with him and with my life back home.

Moving to Portland nearly killed me. It has been one  of the most difficult times of my life.  I’ve been crippled by depression. I’ve been a total hermit spinsterhag for years. But I’ve turned a corner and now I love my life. I want to live it. Love helps but it’s not just my love for Andy it’s love for myself. For the world, as fucked up as it is it’s also beautiful and nourishing. For the first time in a very long time I cannot wait to see what happens.

Dont worry, I’ll keep you posted by posting.

Just don’t call me a Cougar!

still waiting…

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I’m still waiting for my period to start. In vain. Much like I wait for that damn harp sound to float from my phone.

In keeping with my purchasing of super-lady-part-items I was compelled to buy one of these menstrual cups. Why, I am unsure. The idea of insertion is troubling. Ditto removal. But I like to be good for the environment and not create excess trash. I may be menstruating for 10 more years!

Or I may never ever get another period again, because I bought this damn thing.

I’m actually kind of anticipating trying it out. I think because it’s so pink that it makes me drawn to it. It’s so cute The instructions on how to insert, remove, and better yet , what to do if it gets stuck  and removal proves difficult,  are not cute.  But at least I’ve got a pamphlet so I know how to handle to situation. If said situation ever arises again.

I am hoping that there are no YouTube videos about how to use these. But maybe I hope there are. If it gets stuck we’ll all find out.

I’m pretty sure that if I never get another period again I will not lament this unnecessary  purchase. But it’s not like I can, like, donate it to some cause that gives hygiene products to girls and women in need. It’s boil-able and sterilizable but who wants a second-hand menstrual cup?

Might even be too weird for a Portland free-box.