I get kink-shamed for using condoms

The Cheek 007: battling the fake news and the christians are mad at this mommy-blogger

Welcome to “The Cheek.” My weekly, sometimes snarky, brain dump, typically fueled by TikTok brain rot. Enjoy.

Are condoms taboo?

When people find out my husband and I use condoms, they kinda freak out.

Doesn’t it kill the mood?
Can’t you just pull and pray?
Just track your cycle!
I’ve never used a condom. I hate the way they feel.

Blah, blah, blah.

As a horny teenager with painful periods (who refused to track her cycle), it was easy to get my gyno to prescribe the pill. Doc, I get reallyyyy bad cramps, and I never know when it’s coming because it’s so irregular. She didn’t bat an eye before writing the script, never even mentioning that it was birth control.

So for thirteen years straight, at exactly 9:30 PM, my alarm rang to remind me to take it. It wasn’t until I was nearly thirty that I realized how little informed consent I’d actually had—this thing filled with hormones was just a bandaid for my symptoms. So, I decided to go off of it.

When I first started dating my husband, I was still on the pill, and we used condoms. After a run-in with HPV in my twenties, I learned my lesson the hard way. We stopped using them when things got more serious, but as soon as I ditched the pill, we picked them back up. And guess what? He’s never complained. Not once.

It’s something we talk about regularly—how people make such a big deal about something that takes two seconds, how our sex life keeps getting better every year, and how we never have to stress about getting pregnant before we’re ready. Now that’s a mood killer.

And for my single/dating ladies—listen. We live in an unpredictable world regarding bodily autonomy. If you have the privilege and ability to have the consent to wrap it up, do it. Don’t risk your life and health for seven minutes of heaven. Especially when it’s probably less than five minutes and you won’t come first.

Cancel culture isn’t working.

The Christians are angry at one of their beloved mommy bloggers.

Former nurse turned TikTok sensation Avery Woods had reality star and professional fuckboy Harry Jowsey on her podcast last week. Woods, married, spent the entirety of the episode flirting with Jowsey and doing typical pick-me girl bullshit.

It was all fun and games until she insinuated that vaginal birth “wrecks” women’s vaginas and asked Harry if he’d hook up with her if she were single. Worst of all? She came for the Christians when she joked about bullies with Bible-verse bios getting effed in the butt by Big J himself.

Even though I never followed her and didn’t know she had a podcast, I couldn’t escape videos about the whole ordeal. Even her makeup-less apology video made it onto my FYP.

Listen, I’m not anti-accountability. I get that people with platforms need at least a slap on the wrist when they say offensive shit. But cancel culture is not working. We are making these people more famous.

Sure, when someone gets canceled, it’s initially pretty bad. They lose followers, get mean comments, maybe they even lose a few brand deals. But then it all goes away, and they come back bigger and better than before. There’s a reason they say no publicity is bad publicity, right?

I posted a TikTok basically saying that my life is better because I don’t give a shit about influencer drama. It ruffled a few feathers.

“You do not mock The Lord!”
“This is a privileged take!” (I think we grossly overuse the word privilege.)
“She deserves everything she’s getting!”

But here’s the thing—if a stranger with a microphone says something you don’t like and it ruins your day? You need a hobby.

Influencers are just normal people with great marketing skills. They are not curing cancer. And when you discuss them ad nauseam, the algorithm doesn’t care if it’s good or bad—it helps them. Her apology video alone probably paid her mortgage.

If you disagree with me, I don’t care. Cancel me!

Enough with the fucking plane crashes, okay?

I loathe Donald Trump for coining the term “fake news” because, despite how you feel about the orange fellow, he was onto something. Indulge me for a moment while I put on my tinfoil hat.

For weeks, ever since the plane crash in DC, we’ve been drowning in plane crash fear porn. Friends and family of mine are more scared of air travel than ever before. I’m worried about my poor husband—who already has to drug himself to get on a plane and travels frequently for work—as he flies out for his first work trip of the year next month.

Turns out, air travel is still the safest mode of transportation. Because, guess what? There have actually been fewer airplane accidents this January compared to last year. Isn’t that something?

I may still pop a Xanny on my flight to the UK in April, but sometimes, all you have to do is use Google to see past the sensationalist headlines. I don’t care what side of the political spectrum you fall on—our media is thirsty and annoying.

If you’re not stalking me yet, what are you even doing? Find me on Instagram @kristina_nasti and Tiktok @kristina_nasti

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ICYMI: I do Human Design readings. Think of it as the cooler, more science-y cousin of astrology. Human Design has completely changed my life and relationships. Curious? Let me read your chart.