The Crescat
… When they say time flies, they weren’t kidding. The older I get the quicker it whizzes by so another year passing is no longer this monumental thing I celebrate. I also gave up making resolutions several years ago as a past New Year’s resolution. If I screw up I examine my conscience and make my way to confession. That’s my new beginning. I don’t wait till the end of the year to end vices and practice new virtues.
Oh, and the drunken debauchery… I never got that either. I thought New year’s was supposed to be a time for fresh starts. Nothing says “fresh start” like waking up January 1st hung over, covered in vomit and sporting a new STD.
Since becoming a mom, New Year’s Eve is usually spent with family or a small group of friends who have kids too. We keep things fairly tame with a libation or two or three – just enough to make you feel warm and happy.
This year; however, I decided to break away from my typical revelries and join a friend at a local club in Charlotte. I must say not much has changed in the past decade in the way of drunken whoring.
Mocking drunk people is fun… for the first hour maybe. Then it becomes a sad scene to behold. With sober clarity I watched young girls get incoherently intoxicated and allow themselves the uninhibited freedom to behave like sluts.
My girlfriend jokingly wondered aloud how many babies were going to be born this coming September. Then we both fell gravely silent. Surveying the scene around us, we both knew the type of girl to get pregnant from a drunken encounter met in a night club would be more likely to end up in the waiting room of the local abortion mill come February. I was suddenly very much over the night.
God, I hate feminism. The feminism those girls were celebrating was the kind that would rob them of their fresh faced youth and transform them into bitter shrews. It was going to age them well beyond their years and ruin their future relationships. The only people reaping the fruits of their sexual liberation promiscuity were the men those girls were making themselves readily available for. The real victims of modern feminism are women and their aborted children who result from these types of meaningless sexual encounters.
These were my observations as I rang in another year [I’m a real hoot at parties]. If I resolve to do anything this year, I plan to spend a great deal of time writing to debunk the myth of feminism and the idea of consequence free sex. I’m going to say things I’ve held in for quite some time and probably piss a few people off in the process – so strong is my loathing of feminism and abortion.
So there. Happy New Year. Don’t be a whore and no one gets hurt.
Related Links: Dear Katy Perry, it’s time to come home, and From the Desk of the Slutty Slut Shamer.
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