I want a choice

I'm currently working on a paper for one of my English classes: David Hwang's M. Butterfly and the protagonist's, Gallimard, castration complex.
What a unique idea. A man is insecure in his masculinity and so petrified at the thought of being emasculated that his metaphysical phallus doesn't exist and thus, he peruses an extra-marital affair to reaffirm his masculinity. Jokes on him, because his love of twenty years is actually a man.
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Naturally, this made me think of my underware. 

The underwear I am wearing at this moment.

White, boy-short, with doodles of hearts, stars, and bells.

Not to sexy. More cute than sexy for sure, but that's my style. 

.Here's my point.

I recognize that even though my panty style is cute rather than sexy -it still appeals to someone.
Why can't a man recognize that his undergarment style is appealing to someone else as well.
----
I'm saying -> I put panties on, I look good, I know (that if anyone was lucky enough) they'd think I look good.
MY QUESTION IS:
Are the panties I choose reaffirming my femininity because I have low self-esteem? 
If you know me, you know that I have some issues with self-esteem -but i'm a firm believer in faking it till I feel it.
So the answer is NO, me choosing cute panties is not a reflection of my self-esteem.
It could be, but it's not.
I have a large ass and a small waste, boy-shorts are the only logical choice for underware.

SO

just because a man is pursing an extra-marital affair doesn't mean he has some tyoe of complex.
maybe, he is just a "weenie," a "penis," a "cock" (to quote Hwang's many terms for the phallus [found Act II scene VI)

I'm sorry Jacques Lacan, the castration complex is just a cop-out. 

In my opinion, all complexes are cop-out.
Let's be real (or at least Sav is gonna level with you on how she feels at this moment)

people make choices, some are good some are bad, some are well thought out others are impulsive. Let's not make excuses for others.

We are who we are. And some people are just pigs that cannot control themselves.

It all comes back to self-control, discipline, and morals. 

So maybe tomorrow I'll wear a black lacy thong, or a pair of high cut briefs, or maybe no panties at all. but ultimately that's up to me. I make the decisions, no one makes them for me. And I sure as hell don't think it's a reflection on psyche what skivvies I choose to cover my privates with.

Lydia's Lament

I want to be the

one

that grabs your

attention.

When you're surrounded

by all those

others

(it only, slightly, kinda bothers me)

When I walk up

let you

eyes & mind

feast on me.

Wrap your arms

around me

focus on me.

only think of me.

It might be selfish.

I don't

really

care.

If you think you're deserve

me.

If you think you're entitled

to my mind, body, soul.

Then I can have

stipulations.

That's just

the way it is.

Do & go wherever you want;

keep me in the loop.

Surrounded yourself with whores

-but relocate the focus

when I emerge.

respect me.

love me.

care for me.

it's nothing i wouldn't do for you.

it's nothing i don't do for you.

just a thought, really.

Big Butt and High Waist

Ol’ Faithful. That’s what I am.

Keep me tucked in the back drawer,

Clearly you’re embarrassed.

I’m never there when you’re having fun

-But I’d like to be.

You only drag me out, when no one else is

there.

I’m stuck with the gross jobs.

I am the Granny Panty. I’m worn on long flights, ugly days, as a last resort, and during the detestable period… yeah, I went there.

It seems like everyone I know has a “go-to” granny panty friend; you know, the one Victoria calls every time someone tells her secrets or the one Betsy calls every time she can’t find her Johnson.

Frankly, I’m tired of being the Granny Panty. I don’t want to be called just to pick your hott ass up -when you’re skizzered somewhere on Hollywood Blvd. I don’t want to be called to just “hang out” when it’s convenient for you because you’ve been ditched. I want to be invited to go clubbing. I want to be pulled out of the drawer first, with the pretty lacy things –not crinkled in the corner (waiting for your next menstrual cycle).

But at least I can recognize myself as a Granny Panty.

I’m not one of the naïve ladies looking blankly into the mirror trying to convince myself with a mental conversation/mantra/monologue of, “I’m such a good friend! They’d so be there for me.”

Ignorance is bliss right?  Cough, cough. 

Savvy Sue, Baby, What you up to?

Here’s my question: What was Eve Ensler thinking when she started writing the first monologue for The Vagina Monologues? I’m basically one hundred and twenty percent sure that she didn’t just wake up one sunny morning with her vagina speaking to her; I’m basing this off the fact that my vagina has never spoken to me. I reckon that what really happened was that she was moved to write about the plight of women today. But real talk, who other than the angry middle aged female would want to sit and soberly listen to that? When my girlfriends and I discuss our woes and those of other women in the world it involves wine and tequila. So home-girl got clever.

Mama Ensler inspired me.

I am only twenty, but I can do this. Not alone. But that’s what my friends are for, if I can’t fabricate a story via my panty tales than I’ll borrow from a friend’s real life experiences.  

So my goal: to take a whack at creative realism.

It’s going to be a comical, emotional, and naturally, crass ride.