Category Archives: Sex

How to suck at your religion – The Oatmeal

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/religion

Few things make me more happy than witty intelligence.

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Flowers and Jewelry (and a little hypocrisy)

Our latest argument was about money.  We argue about money quite a bit.  Mainly, this is due to the lack of money we generally have to do things that we have to do – such as grocery shop or pay for our newly established gym membership.  Last week we were too tight to pay the gym membership so I told my husband we needed to put it on the credit card until payday, when we could pay it right back.  His response?  “That’s not our money.  I don’t know what you’re going to do b/c we aren’t going to be able to pay it for another two weeks.”  Obviously, this meant I couldn’t go to the gym for those two weeks and he knows I am currently trying to lose weight (and doing very well!)  This absolutely infuriated me.  In my mind, it is just another way for him to try and control me.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day.  He spent the day with a mutual friend of ours who I decided to clue into the recent (ha, recent) drama in our relationship.  Essentially I chose to let him in on the fact that I really believe that my husband is clinically depressed and needs a mentor or at least a friend to force him out of the house.  I knew this friend would be asking him what he was planning on doing for me for the big day in February that I’ve just grown to hate.  Excuse me for not sounding like a very appreciative wife here in the next paragraph.

I got a phone call towards the end of my work day.  He asked me to pick up the little guy even though he could’ve done so easily.  I figured that he could probably use some more time alone and as usual, held out a bit of hope that what he really needed the time for was so he could go home and prepare a romantic candlelight dinner, ya know, as part of his “I’ll do anything” campaign tour.  In my drive home, I tried to talk myself out of these expectations.  After all, I’d gotten him a card (because that was seriously all I could afford) and figured he’d probably done the same for me and that would be that.  I actually found a very appropriate card this year.  It essentially gently reminded him that I do love him without indicating that he’s this gigantic support system for me/the perfect man/my soul mate like most of them do.  I felt he needed that assurance because he seems to be convinced that I don’t want to be with him (although, I realize as well that this is a tactic part of his denial that our problems are real and therefore fixable if we just try to fix them).  I’ve somewhat shifted from anger to compassion as I’ve realized that his depression is real and true.  It’s the fact that he’s in denial and has always exhibited emotionally abusive behaviors that tips the scale to anger on some (okay most) days.  I can’t exactly use his recent depression as an excuse for that behavior, can I?  No, unfortunately.  Because, that would probably be easier.  Sigh.  I feel like I will never get to the end of this paragraph.  I think I have to start a new one now.

I got home.  No candles were lit, but I’d convinced myself not to expect that, right?  No, it couldn’t be that simple.  The house wasn’t picked up, but there were a dozen roses, two cards, and gift box on the table.  It was sweet, unexpected, but still fell short.  He knew what time I got home – I walked in the door to a mess and he was sitting on the couch talking on the phone.  It was almost like…. “See, I did it.  Here’s your freakin’ Valentine.”  See what I mean?  I sound a bit like a spoiled brat.  But that’s the thing – I’m NOT.  So what if I expected that he’d maybe have dinner ready?  The table set for us all to sit and eat together?  Maybe a frickin’ candle?  Instead, a box, that I knew would have jewelry in it, because he still thinks that I need things like this.  He is so convinced that if he buys me expensive things like jewelry, I’d feel better.  You can probably understand per the first paragraph why I felt like strangling him with whatever piece of jewelry was in that box before I’d ever seen it.  Seriously?  You got me JEWELRY?  You can buy me jewelry, but you can’t borrow money from the credit card to pay the gym dues so I can keep working out?  Oh, I see – what YOU think is important and not completely wasteful and unnecessary is acceptable, what I think is important is just little woman talk.  So, we opened each others cards and decided to save the jewelry for later.  When I opened it, I started crying.  As is the story of my life – I wasn’t crying tears of frickin’ joy – I was crying because the man is just so utterly clueless it literally hurts me.  It was a fancy, and beautiful choker (HA, the irony kills me).  It was great!  It will sit in the box it came in on top of my jewelry box and I’ll wear it maybe once a year; I don’t have clothes nice enough to match the damn thing for god’s sake!  I don’t care about expensive jewelry!!

I just let it go, though.  I said thank you, we watched a show, we went upstairs and finished every married couple’s Valentine’s Day ritual.  It was the first time I’ve ever gotten through it with the constant thought… “Is it over yet?”

Is it?


Stick a Fork in My Emotional Marshmallow!

Seriously. I have no idea when I’ll regain sanity… maybe never. I’m pretty convinced after this week that I must be the only person on earth who is truly stuck in a loveless, seemingly pointless marriage. I thought things had gotten better…. hence the reason I haven’t exactly been loyal to my bipolar marriage web blog.

Well. As usual, we are slowly creeping back to normal again… fights about nothing that turn into something that turn into something bigger that leave me calculating just how much money I should be saving every paycheck… and if the $5 a week that I could afford to save means that I may as well just suck it up anyway b/c I’ll be at least 50 by the time I actually can afford to truly, truly regain sanity and find my TRUE soulmate that I’m convinced is somewhere out there secretly writing love songs (for me only) and distributing them among my favorite artists and having radio stations/Pandora play them only when I am already an emotional marshmallow!!!

I digress. Or should I? I really wish that I could ask people on facebook who write sentimental messages to their significant others what it’s “really” like for them when they aren’t broadcasting their bliss? It can’t possibly be that the past lovers – or almost so – in my life are not actually pining away for me just like I do for them when I’m convinced my husband is the world’s largest and most clueless ass on the planet.

My bubble burst a bit today as I read the post of an almost lover that talked about the years he has spent with his wife as “the best of his life.” Is it wrong that I’m not happy for him? Haha, of COURSE I’m happy for him. And, I’m sure, that every once in a good while, he does think of me when he hears that one Adele song… and he remembers what it felt like to ALMOST embrace me and to ALMOST make mad passionate love to me…

Right? Sigh…. See what I mean? Not sure when I’ll regain sanity. I asked my neighbor last night if this is actually how marriage “is.” She gave the best answer anyone’s ever given me on the topic… that, of course, it is. And that sometimes she stops and looks around and asks herself, “Am I on planet Earth?” Made me laugh… and if she hadn’t been there it probably would’ve made me cry too!

She also said something (well many things, I love my wise neighbor!) that I think may be the key to at least regaining a LITTLE sanity to make it to the next Anniversary anyway (which is less than 2 weeks away). Wisdom passed on to her is this re: what a man really needs:

We, as women, need an entire afternoon of affection and attention to feel loved and affectionate in return. Men only need about 3 minutes… generally right after they’ve “agreed” to “hold” you – which almost always means that you are “agreeing” to “hold” (their penis) back. So, perhaps if I can try (and it will take effort) to sacrifice these 3 minutes…a… little more often… I’ll be a happier wife?

Funny/sad/horrifying thing is that it makes me LOL to think that I’d ever get a whole afternoon in return without having to beg for it. Blah. I’m sick of being sick of it!


Index Schmindex

Who created the BMI Index?  I’d love to know.  There’s nothing like a good sit down with your doc… except for the moment when she slides the BMI index across her desk and starts highlighting shit.  I’ve tried to keep it together pretty well this last week… etc.  I’ve been doing amazingly well.  Despite being paranoid that someone is mad at me allll the time (more on that neurosis later), I’ve been at the top of my game.  Willing to accept that my  marriage isn’t what I thought it would be, what I dreamed it would be… but that it is what it is.  I have to exist in it as it is, for now anyway.  There are lots of reasons I “have to” and they’re pretty obvious.  Financially it would be impossible to “create a new life” for myself.  And even if I could… I’m still not convinced I’d be better off in that imaginary life.  Of course now it seems simpler and less of a struggle.  I could just feel whatever I feel and not have to explain every intricate detail of why I feel that way when I feel that way.  I wouldn’t have to present mini-dissertations on every thought I have and where it came from.  I could just exist.  Happily.  I wouldn’t be told by someone who claims he loves me that I’m getting too comfortable in the job that I love.  I wouldn’t be told by my husband, while explaining the previous statement, that he “just meant” that “I’d rather tell people that my wife is a lawyer, or a psychiatrist.”  Sometimes I’m amazed at the shit I swallow.  It makes me angry and frustrated… and those words are miniature compared to how I really feel.  I digress.

The BMI Index.  I’d just love to meet the bastard who came up with those numbers.  I won’t go into the details of where I fall – but I can tell you that my “ideal weight” will never be reached.  And saying to me, “Now I know it seems like an impossible goal… BUT…”  isn’t comforting.  I know you’re a doctor and you’re supposed to tell me to watch my weight – but pointing out just where I fall on the ole’ index and reminding me, verbatim, that I’m in the “overweight” category is taking to a little too far, don’tchya think?  Plus, I just got done telling you that there is literally no time, and literally no money for a gym membership and radical health diet – so excuse me if I ask for a B-R-E-A-K break.  I’d be happy if I lost about 15 pounds – and most people I know feel the same way.  But this chic wants me to lose 35 pounds so I can look like I did in high school.  Nice as that would be – it’s actually not humanly possible for me right now b/c I don’t SLEEP at a gym.  And I happen to have the kind of metabolism and body structure that will gain weight if I am not CONSTANTLY exercising and eating lettuce.  Screw that – who does that?  Not me.  And not anyone I know.

So I have to thank the BMI for this most recent mental disturbance… because it has brought pretty much every insecurity that I have been having over the last year, right to the surface!  I just went in for a yearly pap – and I came out with a nervous breakdown.  Who knew the lady doc had so much power.  First, she asked me why I wasn’t on birth control.  “Because… (hahaha??) my husband and I pretty much don’t have sex anymore.”  Yeah… okay so you’re sorry to hear that.  Thanks?  “Is it because of your libido?  Or because of everything you’ve told me about how things are going…??”  Can’t you answer that yourself?  So, the thing is I really do like this doctor who was asking me all these questions.  And I was great at my answers… stating the obvious at times and other times sincerely stating things like, “Well, I’ve just come so far emotionally over the last few years and my husband doesn’t seem to be as comfortable as I am with the newer, stronger me.”  Ha!  It’s true… right?  I’m newer, and stronger.  I have worked amazingly hard to get to where I am today.  And where am I?  Sitting across from my lady doc coming apart just a little bit with every question she asks.  Yes, there are some major life changes that have contributed to the difficulties that my husband and I have had.  Yes, it’s a libido issue – I don’t want to have sex.  Ever.  And yes, I guess those lubricants can help… on the rare occasion that I do feel sorry enough for my husband to give into him.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy it once it’s started… but the desire and the interest to get it started is non-existent.

He thinks I don’t love him anymore.   So sometimes I wonder if I do.  Sometimes I ask myself, what the hell there is to love.  I don’t feel emotionally supported.  I don’t feel strengthened… nurtured… admired.  I don’t feel anything I think I’m supposed to feel in a marriage.  I just feel trapped – in many ways, for many reasons.  I trapped myself – emotionally – years ago.  And I’m just trying to think myself into acceptance and lower expectations.  It’s not really working.  He says I can’t let anything go.  But how do I let it go when it’s in my face all the time?  He ALWAYS wants to have sex.  “Doesn’t it make you feel good that I want you all the time?”  My response?  “You are a man.  Seriously?  I breathe… that pretty much is all you need to be horny.”  He thinks that’s harsh – and maybe it is.  But he’s not exactly interested in doing what I’ve asked him to do to help me be more interested.  I know that men connect physically rather than emotionally – or so the story goes.  I don’t entirely buy it.  Women connect physically as well – but not without some freakin’ effort.  I’m always supposed to meet him halfway – have sex with him.  But he never has to meet me halfway – take me on a date every blue moon – dress up!!!  Tell me to dress up!  Surprise me!  Get me a card for no reason.  Tell me I’m beautiful!  Ask me for advice!  Aren’t these normal things that couples do?

No wonder I have such good “other man” dreams.  I’m pretty much as low as I get now – tears are stock piled and I can’t breathe out of my nose.  It’s okay.  I’m used to his place.  I feel somewhat comfortable here – and I’m okay with letting myself cry it out.  It’s necessary.  Especially when the hope for change is nearly nonexistent.  He’ll never change.  He’s firm in who he is and he’s always been that way.  It’s me that’s changed.  I don’t want what he has to offer anymore and he isn’t willing to give me what I need.  It just doesn’t add up anymore.  But here we are existing and trying to make the best of it.  I wonder how long and how much harder we will try.  I wonder if it’s the effort that matters, and not the end result.  Of course there’s no such thing as a happy marriage — err…. a perfect marriage.  I just want some basic needs met.  That’s all.  Just for him to say the right thing at least some of the time.   And when he doesn’t?  I just want him to be able to say, “I said the wrong thing.  I’m sorry.”  Show some vulnerability for god’s sake.

I think it’s time for bed.  Man, I could use a good escape dream tonight!  Summoning the other man dreams lol.  🙂