Gen X Hot Girl Summers and...AARP Magazines??

From some of my past blogs you'll probably notice that my shot girl summer, or hot girl summer, or whatever, isn't going to have much in the way of sex.  There's a reason for that and since I'm Gen X and my post-covid dating stories are mostly about Gen X, let's get into it.  

In late 2016 two life-altering events occurred.   Trump supposedly "won" the election, and I had a radical hysterectomy.    Both of these events would shape the next four years of my life. 

Now, Trump taking office I knew was going to fuck me up.  So, no surprise there.  But the hysterectomy, does anyone really tell you how much that can fuck you up?  That it can actually be a traumatic event?

For me, it really was.   First of all, for the first time in my life I became depressed.  And since I had never suffered from depression before, I had no coping tools for it.  Having been launched, overnight, into medical menopause, I also developed rage issues.   And really, you did not want to fuck with me.  One time I almost killed a girl because I was convinced she was trying to race me into the threading station at the Smith Haven Mall. 

As I broke into a near-run in order to beat her I fantasized about bashing her face in.  I did beat her there, but it also dawned on me that the race may have been one-sided, and I had invented this entire thing in my head.

I decided to see my doctor before I ended up in jail.  

The doctor prescribed me an anti-depressant which he said would also help with my menopausal rage.

It took me six full months after the first dose to realize I had never thought about suicide before.

Six months!  Six months of sitting around thinking about killing myself, and thinking I had no reason to want to live.  Six months of completely alien thoughts in my head, before I finally thought "hey, wait a minute, I've never thought about suicide before."

In fact, I was always terrified of death.  I could spend hours spiraling down the hellscape of an eternity of nothingness.  Oh, I could existential dread alright. 

I called up my doctor and let him know that the pills he put me on had turned my murderous rage inwards, and I would rather go back to fantasizing about killing mall people, because really how much did they have to live for anyway?  Yeah, I know, I was at the mall too, but I had a good reason for being there.

Anyway, I had to be weaned off the damn pills, because you can't quit them cold turkey or you might kill yourself.   It's a real trap they got going there, isn't it?  Stay on them, kill yourself.  Go off them, kill yourself.  

I managed to get out of that whole thing alive, and unimprisoned, but I was still living in a body that didn't feel like my own.

It was two and half years before I could have an orgasm again.  Two and a half years.   Sex was out of the question, though about two years in I did try with my ex.  He seemed to find the whole thing ludicrous and said he looked it up on the internet and only 1% of women with hysterectomies imploded during orgasm. 

I admit I did find that funny.  But I knew it was all in my head, so he didn't give me any big revelations.  

My body feels like my own again now, yes.  But it's been a long time since I've been with a man, and it's not something I'm going to start up again in a casual manner.  It would have to be with someone I knew well, and I'm no longer attracted to the one ex who still accepts my calls, and doesn't describe me as "that crazy bitch". 

But in fairness, the ones who describe me that way are either MAGAs or Bernie bros, so you can't judge me on that alone, okay?

Anyway, I know I'm not alone in dealing with this bullshit.  All of this shit really convinced me that God is a misogynist, because once your lady parts are no longer good for child-bearing what happens?  They're designed to try and murder you.  It's true.  

So, I don't expect much if any sex in my first post-covid summer.  And that's alright, I really just wanna have fun.

But I do have lots of friends who are out there sexing, and one of them, we'll call her Sarah (I'm not inventive with names, sorry, you're either Sarah or your Karen), hooked up with an old on-again off-again last week.

She told me she had a great time and then the next morning she found this on his kitchen counter:


As you can imagine that was a real post-coital slap in the face.  How can we possibly be this old?  We were always the cool ones.  I mean, nobody thinks Boomers are cool.  Sorry, that's true Boomers, please go complain about it on your own blog.  

But Gen X?  We were always cool.  On our own from our tweens, the latchkey kids, no helicopter parents buzzing around their little darlings wiping our behinds.  We were fighters, as no anxious mommy was waiting for us at our bus stops, and bullies were on the loose.  We can still throw down on a moment's notice.  We were raised on Steak-Ums, Atari, survival of the fittest, and stories of what happened to kids who didn't go home after school.  Sometimes, they had their heads cut off.   At some point, this stopped phasing us.  If we were going to get our heads cut off, so be it, but did you see our latest Space Invaders score?!

We were the shit, let's face it.  

Now we are screwing AARP members...oh that's right, now we ARE AARP members. 

Soon enough, we'll be dead, so maybe I do need to add some sex into this summer.  Who knows if I'll even be alive next summer.  

Does anyone know any nice guys who don't look like serial killers?  And, also, who aren't serial killers? 

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