VD and Other Well Wishes

I think the heavens are trying to teach me a lesson about putting negative energy into the world.

You know that feeling where someone has caused you so much suffering, that the only recourse that you are left with is to leave it up to fate and wish them a similar emotional crisis to be bestowed upon them? We have all felt like that at one point in our lives. Perhaps it’s the Jewish guilt, or the belief that whatever energy I put into the world Karma rewards me thrice over, but I cannot wish evil on even my worst enemy. I am left, hurt, sad, but in the end “forgiving” because I am petrified what fate has in store if I wish ill onto anyone in the name of “revenge”.

But, this past year has been really hard for me. Heartbreak, rejection from grad school, friends yelling at me in the name of an “intervention”, a shitty work situation—it’s been a lot for my little over-emotional heart to handle. Maybe I sound a bit bitter but there is a part of me that wishes for fate to step in and even the score for me.

Assholes 1 - Shannon 2

But being the *secretly* incredibly nice person, I can’t wish actual bodily harm like cancer or a terrible car wreck onto anyone. That would be incredibly fucked up. But besides that being incredibly fucked up, I am fearful that Karma would bite me in the ass and give me that cancer or a terrible car wreck. So in the last few months I’ve developed a coping mechanism that I feel ok invoking in the name of Karma.

If someone fucks me over, I wish venereal disease on them. And not even the serious shit that could kill someone like AIDS or cause cancer like HPV but the simple shit that could be cured with some penicillin. Just Chlamydia, Syphilis, Gonorrhea—anything that would make their piss burn for a few days and cause embarrassment when they have to discuss their symptoms with their doctor.

I thought that this was fool proof, especially since it has been a very very very (and I do mean very) long time since I’ve had sex. However, once again fate proves to me that it has a sick sense of humor.

A few weeks ago my waxer went a bit overboard with my usual Brazillian bikini wax. Instead of leaving the “landing strip”, she took it all off and left me looking like a ten year old girl down there. My skin is incredibly sensitive, especially that area. Combine that I got my Brazillian the night before leaving for London, and while traveling I get lazy with the effort that goes into protecting against ingrown hairs, and you have that my vag right now looks like it is a battlefield. Ingrown hairs all over, scabs that resulted from picking and exfoliating the offending hairs out, and some ingrowns as I am letting nature take it’s course with the really bad ones. My vagina has experienced trauma.

When I came back, the teacher came over to visit me as I dogsat on the Upper West Side. He was in the area and decided to pop on over and help me polish off a bottle of champagne. Of course, this led to a make out. His hand ventures south. I stop him and explain, “Listen, my waxer fucked up and I have an incredible amount of ingrown hairs. It just isn’t pretty” Of course he waves my protests off, assuming that I am being neurotic. However, STD screening training has taught me that often people mistake Herpe sores for ingrown hairs and other benign bumps. I mean, if I see some weird bump on a vag or penis I plan to run and wash my hands in scalding hot water with bleach and anti-bacterial soap. But he took my word, or so it seems.

We have a hot steamy make out, but no sex because I wouldn’t feel right having sex in my friend’s house. I thought everything went well, we even fell asleep on the couch together. But he hasn’t called back since meeting up last week!

Does he think that I am a skank who hooked up with him who pretended to not have the Herp? Has my wishes of VD caught up with me in the name of bad wax jobs and sensitive skin?! Karma, is that you playing tricks with my vagina?

Or, what most likely happened, he doesn’t want to date a pretentious know it all who trampled him during a debate. I mean, I did warn him that I studied social theory in college.

This is just getting frustrating. Why can’t I ever make it past the second date with someone? Or maybe I should be asking myself, why the hell do I ever let them take it past the first?