I want to talk about the word crazy.
You don’t want to seem crazy. I get that. But chances are that if you’re reading this, then you aren’t crazy. Because I’m awesome, so if you’re someone who chooses to read this then you have good taste and good decision making skills. End of story.
So, you’re not crazy. Done.
You aren’t wrong for wanting to not be labeled as crazy. The patriarchy is wrong for making you care about being labeled crazy.
“Whoa, FG, that was a lot of statement right there!”
“Sorry, Internet, you’re right. Let me go slower.”
However, the word crazy has been co-opted to mean ‘outspoken woman.’ Not even just an outspoken woman, but a woman who speaks up for herself when she’s being upset or offended.
So if we can agree that it’s just a term for women who stand up for themselves… then I want to be crazy!
Say the thing you want to say! Stop the sex even though it’s awkward. Do the thing you want to do.
I’d rather be called crazy any day than do something I don’t want to do.
And just a little anecdote to let you know how serious I am:
I went to a party last week and flirted with a bartender. He led me off to some back room, not the sexy kind, the fluorescent lighted kind. We made out a bit (sure, I’m down for this) and then he took his penis out and tried to get me to do things with it (I am not down for this). He did that pathetic thing guys do where once I told him it wouldn’t be going in my vagina, he downgraded the request to mouth, and then hand.
For a minute I thought I could track him back to the pre-penis makeout. Sometimes I can do that with a guy, convince them to put it away and enjoy the high-school-level face-smushing. But he was determined to get that thing in whatever hole he could, and so he lost me.
Except that he wouldn’t really listen when I said no. He kept trying to pull me closer, grab at my clothes, get his penis into my hand.
So I slapped it. Pretty hard (the slap was pretty hard, his penis only semi).
I expected him to get upset. To call me crazy, violent, a bitch, something.
Instead he just told me to do it again. That’s when I rolled my eyes and walked out. And then ran all the way back to the main room.
I don’t know exactly what the message is in that last story. I hope it was ‘speak your mind, stand up for yourself, don’t be afraid of being labeled crazy.’