Perspectives

A newfound level of respect for fatties, from me, of all people. I don't think people of normal weight realize how hard it is to do even the most mundane of daily tasks-- leaning over to tie your shoes, for example. I have a huge belly that prevents me from doing normal things. I can no longer see my cooch, let alone bend over to pick shit up from the floor.

Am tremendously afflicted with Madame Bovary Syndrome. Instead of the French countryside, I live in Brookline. My doctor-husband is as sweet as can be, which makes things worse. Now that we have a baby coming, it's not about me anymore. Sometimes I lie in bed during the day, squinting at the sunglight, thinking, "Is this all there is?" Should I resign myself to having passionless sex forever, concentrating on being a good mother? After all, don't all married people stop having sex eventually anyway?

I realize that as a perpetual fuck up at life in general, there is a great chance that I will suck at this whole mothering thing. I will NOT do what my parents did to me--i.e. fuck with my head and make me feel unloved. That will NOT happen to my kid. Which is why I can't even think about cheating on my husband or being with someone else. Which just pisses me off, because I'm not used to being so restrictive sexually. I'm the one who uses sex as an outlet, as therapy, and here I am, not being able to turn to the one thing that actually makes things better.

And for a person who derives most of her self-worth from her appearance(that would be me), it is hugely distressing to venture out on the streets without seedy gentlemen raping me with their eyes or leering at me lasciviously. Now I get maam'd at grocery stores and people give up their seats for me on the subway. Sigh. I may never bring sexyback, as the kids say. So fucking depressing.

Laws

Being pregnant is a very strange state. I was unhindered by the living thing inside of me until this week. A few days ago, I couldn't sleep on my stomach anymore, and I had the distinct feeling that someone was sitting on me. I'm only 5 months along, which means I have 4 more glorious months to await.

The husband is, as always, very sweet to me. Asks me if I need anything at all hours of the day. What I really need is a good fuck with someone else to scratch this itch, but of course, I can't tell him that. I think I haven't had a real orgasm in at least 6 months now. And we have sex every.single.night.

What I've learned from my marriage is that there is a certain primal attractiveness about a person that is instantaneous, unforgeable, uncultivatable. My husband is not ugly or covered with sores or anything, but he is just... puny. Unmanly. Hairy in all the wrong places, unchiseled like a pat of butter. In the end, it comes down to the fact that he is not masculine enough for me. I thought I could develop a lust for him with time, but sex with him is rote, barely physics, a dead circuit.

What he lacks in his sex appeal, he makes up with kindness, thoughtfulness, and being an all-around wonderful human being. I couldn't imagine a better father for my baby. He'd never cheat on me(hell, I'm the hottest chick he's ever banged or hope to bang in his lifetime) and his pedigree and breeding certainly help. He essentially saved me by marrying me, so how could I turn my back on him now, or ever? I can't, of course.

But then I think: Maybe I have a sexual dysfunction. A disorder that makes me unable to get excited about sex unless it involves degradation, violence, danger. Maybe I should go see a sex therapist? Or maybe in the end, it doesn't matter, because we're all going to be wrinkly and pruney and gross anyway. Nobody stays attractive forever, right?

Depraved

You know it's been a long time since you've blogged when...

you forget your login and your password to Blogger.

Ah, my apologies for my absence. But so much of my life seems inconsequential-- most of my days are spent like this: work, dinner, sex with husband, sleep-- that I feel silly writing about it. Who wants to read about how stable someone's life is? I've craved stability my entire life, and once I've obtained it, I daresay it's... boring. I can't type that without feeling guilty as shit, seeing how hard my husband tries to make me happy.

It's a strange relationship we have, the husband and I. For the first time in my life, someone loves me unconditionally. It's like, I can fuck shit up and scream in his face until he cries, but he still loves me and says he wants to be with me. I don't think I love him in the same way.

When I married him, I was on the cusp of turning thirty, jobless, had dropped out of grad school, without prospects. Here was a man who was pedigreed and brilliant, and he wanted to marry me. I knew that he loved me more than I loved him, and I thought that was what I needed. So we got married at the Harvardd Faculty Club, me in a Amsale wedding dress and he in a silk Armani suit, and we said we'd take care of each other forever. Oh, yeah, I was also pregnant at the time.

I know I sometimes come off as being a liberal bitch, but my southern upbringing and the religious fanaticism of my parents have burned into my head: "Baby out of wedlock= shame shame shame." I found out I was pregnant 3 days after he proposed to me and I had said yes. When I accepted, it was kind of a wait and see situation-- maybe drag the engagement out a couple of years until I met someone better. Then the "+" sign on the First Response really got things rolling and we were married in a month. A few days after the wedding, I had a miscarriage. That's just how my luck rolls.

I've always been drawn to the quintessential bad boy, someone who gambles too much and drinks to excess and wrecks too many European cars. My husband? His interests are videogames and Magic the gathering. Jesus, talk about geek chic without the chic. And of course, he had the perfect childhood with loving, adoring parents, so he has no sexual repression, which means, yes, he is boring in bed.

I like some anger with my sex. I want it all-- the hair pulling, the spanking, the dirty talking. With him, dirty talking is him tidmidly asking me, "Will you kiss me down there?" Ugh, give me a break. Where's the perversion, dude? I brought up the idea of group sex, only to have him tell me that it would break his heart to share me with anyone. What kind of a guy says that? A guy who loves his wife, I guess.

But then again, it's probably just me. I'm the one who can't be happy, even when I have it all.