A commenter mentioned last week in the “Myth: Men Who Still Live At Home Are Wack” post that a woman who considers dating a man living in mama’s basement is thirsty. Admittedly this caught my attention enough to churn out this post right away. The term “thirsty” has been thrown around as a modern replacement for the word desperate in today's slang. According to the urban dictionary rolls her eyes an individual is thirsty because they are too eager to get something

I know I’m getting up there in age, so I’m (purposely) slow to get on the bandwagon as far as popular culture is concerned, but I hate that term with every bone in my body. Desperation is desperation can’t hate or love it, I believe all humans crave love and affection naturally, but I loathe the fact that folks are so quick to throw the term “thirsty” around like it’s a disease spreading. We have become so cautious of being labelled thirsty that I feel like its holding some of us back

Maybe I think this way because I’m a hippie artistic let’s go streaking type of personality who loves adventure. I’m willing to find out what works and what doesn’t by trusting my intuition and not being afraid to fall down once in a while boldly. I’d rather have loved and lost then sit in the same stale-ass Starbucks week after week bitching about why I don’t have a man, why Shashasequa’s life is so fcked up and how I’M JUST DOIN ME DOUBLE SIGH*.

I cherish my time alone as well as in the arms of another, and I’m starting to see that there are no vast differences between them. Yes, a committed relationship with my best friend is what I want, is exhilarating, something I will eventually have happily, but if we don’t take chances for fear of being called thirsty how do we progress and grow at all? If I didn’t fall while learning to ice skate, my technique wouldn’t be so great, it would be just average.