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Sex (or lack thereof) and the Married Couple

Or as I should call it, How 50 Shades of Grey ruined my sex life. That’s right. I said ruined. I know, I know- you’re like, ‘WTF FRUG, you were all gushing about it in your music video. Yeah, well, that was back then. Now, unless my husband reads those books, (has any guy read them?) or any other middle aged-mom-soft porn, I can forget getting hot and heavy like Ana and Christian did. My husband will never look at me with smoldering eyes, fingering one of his silk ties in his hands, while he strolls on over to me wearing ripped up jeans and carrying a riding crop, telling me to ‘hold still’.  Our idea of kinky is when one of us gets a neck cramp during ‘relations’.

Who the fuck has time for hot sex anymore?  I’m talking monogamous, happily married, tear off each other’s clothes, pretend like you haven’t been married for 15 years sex. My body isn’t a robot. I don’t have a ‘TURN ON’ switch. So if it isn’t the time of the month, fatigue, sciatic nerve spasms, gas from too much bread at dinner… it’s a miracle there’s any relations going on at all. Seriously, mom- this might be where you stop reading- or put your fingers in your ears ‘lalalalala…I can’t hear you.’

Is it nature’s job to just mess with us? And by us, I mean women. It’s not that I don’t want sex, necessarily (oh dear God, mother, I am so sorry), it’s just that the urge for it really is sporadic. Here is a typical cycle of my libido in any given week-

Monday night= staying up to catch up on DVR shows and blog. Plus, my crops in WeTopia are far overdue to be harvested. Hubs is asleep on the couch. #Sameoldstory.

Tuesday= 11 am, started reading a book/ article/ or was watching Last of the Mohicans on one of the Encore channels with Daniel Day Lewis wearing deer skin pants- the only movie he’s ever looked THAT good- and think- hmmm, if hubby was home right now I would SO tap that keg.

Tuesday night= hubby’s home- and awake, but I have gas from that new quinoa and white bean recipe I tried. Plus, I snarfed that bag of Doritos when no one was around earlier, so the MSG is bloating in my intestines. This equals unsexy for sure.

Wednesday = Hubby’s working from home but I’m feeling glum and sad over how my jeans don’t fit me after I take them out of the dryer. I wish he would give me a back rub. And by back rub, I mean, back rub. And bring me donuts.

Thursday= holy hell- was surfing the web for blog material and happened to come across a whole handful of hot guys which got me thinking how nice it would be if hubby was working from home today. But he’s not. Once again, two ships- different ports.

Friday night= fell asleep in front of my lap top at around 9:30 surfing the web for swim suits that will never fit me. Got distracted and started watching cute kitten videos on YouTube, but my eyelids were so heavy, so now I’m just snoring on the couch. Maybe hubs will carry me upstairs, undress me and put me in to bed, which will wake me just enough for me to be aroused and he’ll pleasure me luxuriously for hours. Wait. Scratch that. Hubs hasn’t picked me up EVER since I weigh as much as he does, and he sure as hell wouldn’t make it up the stairs carrying my fat ass, especially with his bum knee. Plus he’s fallen asleep on the couch while updating his roster for Fantasy Soccer.

Saturday= went out with girl friends and got all dolled up to impress other ladies and get hit on by men that don’t mean anything to me. Stumbled home around midnight and took some Advil and went to bed.

Sunday= still recovering from the night before’s outing. Hubs gives me THE LOOK while we are brushing our teeth getting ready for bed. I’m like, “What?”, He’s like, “hey there”. I’m all, “hey there yourself”. Put in my night guard, throw my hair up in a scrunchie and call it a night. 6:30 am isn’t waiting for nobody and Monday mornings are always hell trying to drag my sorry ass out of bed. So no nookie for you my dear. Sleep time.

And there you have the random week in the life of a married couple that wishes, just wishes, that Afternoon Delights, Hotel Sex, or Anniversary sex, could come during random times of the day, conveniently when there’s no time of the month, gassy stomach bloat, constipation, or children around to bother or in their case, be bothered. OR telemarketers or the Mother In Law calling, or the dog whining at the bottom of the bed.

Yep. I went there. My next blog will be- ‘Why you shouldn’t blog about your sex life and humiliate your ultra, introverted husband.’

Stay tuned.

Dear McSweetie

Oh, that is the cute name I call my dear husband. He’s like McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy, but he’s mine and even cuter than Patrick Dempsey. Which is hard to be, cuz that Patrick is FINE.

When I get the urge to write something like this, I pretty much drop everything and do it. Not always do I feel like a warm and devoted housewife. Often I feel like a cold-hearted bitch with a bone to pick. And by bone, I mean big ol’ fish to fry, burr in my craw, chip on my shoulder the size of Lisa Rinna’s top lip. SOO, I am in a good mood and was thinking fondly of the ol’ ball and chain. So I thought I would dedicate this little ditty to him.

Dear McSweetie-

It’s been 15 years that we have been married come this August. I can’t believe how time flies. And although you are not perfect by any means. And by ‘not perfect’, I mean, have no clue how to empty the dishwasher or load it.  You pretend you still don’t know where stuff goes in the cupboards even though we’ve lived here ten years, and things haven’t changed really- at all. You don’t know how to put your dirty socks IN the clothes hamper. You can’t seem to get your beard and neck hairs out of the sink or away from MY toothbrush. You seem to miss the garbage can while clipping your toenails. BUT- even with ALL those little flaws, I thank you for putting up with MY flaws.

Yes- shocker. I have them. You know this, but THEY might not know this. (THEY, are my blog readers honey, pretend we have an audience.) Okay- so here goes. Thank you for not picking on me for the following:

Wearing socks to bed every night of the year (even in summer except when it’s reallllly hot, like 85 degrees or something). Remember my orange socks of our early wedded years? I should’ve kept those. They were so thick and cozy. And orange.

Wearing the rattiest, saggiest pajamas to bed every night. I can’t sleep in the nude OR one of the various Victoria Secret nighties you’ve bought for me over the years. Sorry those only see day light when I bring them with us if you and I go away for an outing overnight that involves a hotel. Hotel nooky = sassy night gowns. Wearing that at home would mean that I would have to go through the trouble of changing out of them before morning came. Because getting the kids ready for school in satin and lace is just gross and weird. And itchy. So I’m not going to even bother. PJs it is. Sorry.

Wearing the same pair of lounge pants three days in a row  and not wearing any makeup despite the Sephora store that is practically our bathroom. Geesh, I’m lazy.

Never mentioning that my legs feel like a cactus since I haven’t shaved since September.

Not complaining over the bajillion products and lotion bottles that cover our bathroom counter top.

Having to see my lady bits when I birthed our children. I know you asked not to be down there. Cuz being ‘down there’ when they’re conceived is really different than when those watermelons are coming down the pike. There’s poop, there’s goo, there’s tearing.  Oh lawd, even I didn’t look when they offered the mirror. So I’m sorry. That must’ve been real hard for you. I’m also sorry I didn’t let you play with my milk jugs after the babies were born. I know I must’ve resembled someone out of Hustler magazine, but considering my boobs felt like flesh that had been twisted in a vice that was so sensitive even air hurt when it touched them- you didn’t have a chance.

Thank you for letting me complain how messy the garage is, but not saying anything to me about how ransacked the pantry looks.

Not complaining when I’ve been home all day, didn’t make dinner, and then ask you to pick something up.

You give me the remote.

Pretending that you don’t realize how many shoes and purses I actually have.

And who would have thought, the kids call you the 'goofy one'!

That’s all I can think of for now.  I’m sure I will add to this list soon. Despite the fact my flaws are so few and far between

xoxo

Love,

Hot babe

(okay, that isn’t what he calls me, I just think it’s what he thinks of me)