Monday, November 30, 2009

The all-important dirty talk

I talked to my husband. I started this blog so I could bitch about him in a way that I never would to people I really know, people who really know me. People who would continue to watch us interact. In real life.

In real life if you call your husband a lame lover and bitch about how all he does is work and has no friends, they'll assume that its absolutely true and that there is no saving things. And maybe they're right. Or maybe I just get really pissed and need to say that even though there are many,many times I put my head on his shoulder and know it is exactly where I should be.

So I talked to him. We were on our way to a charity function (which makes us sound rich and fancy but really we just both work in/frequent the non profit world a lot.) He asked something about sex and I told him that I thought we should stop "trying" for a while.

I had a miscarriage in May and we've just started trying again recently. The whole thing has been really hard on everything. But I'll get to that later.

So he said "Because of ski season." I'd actually planned my previous pregnancy around ski season because I'm an insane skier.
"No, because we haven't been getting along."

A look of utter shock passed over his face. This was somehow news to him. Which I found miraculous and infuriating and incredible and unbelievable and many other things. But I shut my mouth about that.

We've had a significant number of talks about sex. Which mostly means that I talk. About how we need to be able to talk about sex. And by "we" and I mean "HE." I can talk about sex just fine. In bed, to strangers, at the doctor's office. Its a favorite topic of mine. The talks not only consist of me telling him we need to have better communication about sex (i.e. more exciting sex with the all-important dirty talk) but also the fact is we don't have enough of it. I want more than a max of twice a week. I remember when the minimum was twice a day. While I don't think that's practical for our lifestyle now, I do think we can manage more than weekly contact. He figured since he'd been upping the amount, the case was closed and all was well in relationshipland.

Sorry. No.

I was quiet and we got in the car to drive to the event. He asked what not getting along meant. I explained that he doesn't DO anything anymore. I told him that he clearly only prioritozes doing his job well and while I respect the work he does, our marriage is not in the priorities rankings. Worse still, I said, was that he didn't seem to have any desire to enjoy his life, to thrive. And I do.

I told him that he doesn't have any fun anymore and that the fun I've had recently he hasn't been a part of.

I told him I could feel myself separating from him. Bit by bit. Activity by activity. Priority by lifestyle. Sexuality by friendship.

He was quiet for a long time and I could tell that it had sunk in.

That night he slapped my ass during sex and took a little nibble hear and there. He talked about buying cross country skis and I am hopeful for a change.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

In Bed

So sorry that my first post pretty much sucked. Ever have that happen? You're writing and you think its all good but then realize that what you were feeling was what was good not what you were writing. Sometimes I do that.

So what I was really saying was how my marriage has been rocky lately. And my husband well, I'm going to go ahead and blame him since he has no way to know this blog exists much less read it. I like having one place where I get to be right all the time. I call that place my house. Ok, really I meant the blog.. I kid I kid.

The marriage thing really started with problems in the bedroom. My husband's sex drive is somewhat lacking. As is his imagination and communication. When things were new it didn't matter too much. And when everything else in our marriage was good, it didn't matter so much.

But now...

Now my patience with it is wearing. And I don't want to be divorced. But I REALLY don't want to be 30 with my sex life over.

So I had a dream about a guy I used to have a huge thing for and it brings all this crap flying back that I haven't really thought about in years.

And true to form, I'm ready to run away. Currently to Canada to see this beautiful distraction of a man.

Mmmmmm I would fuck the shit out of him right now and it'd be better than in the dream, or when I was 20.

Lustover again

Ever have a dream about someone you were previously involved with and it brings back every feeling fresh and new? Its like my mind just opened the dryer and breathed him in all over again.

Nothing went wrong. It wasn't like that. He just lived far. And I lived far. And it was unlikely from the first night.

I still vividly remember that night more than 10 years later. I wandered around aimlessly in Munich and stumbled upon this hostel. I remember checking in to the hostel and seeing him sitting at a table. I remember my leftover adolescense categorizing him as the cool guy. The beautiful cool guy. The one I would sneak glances at just to drink in the way his eyes could pierce even things they weren't focused on.

One who certainly wouldn't have interest in me. Although looking back, I'm not sure why I would have thought that.

I stashed my stuff and sat at a table and ordered a beer. I struck up a conversation with a significantly less cool, not-good-looking guy but who was nice enough. I'd barely slept after travelling around Sweden for a beautiful light summer week of summer sun. So I excused myself to go take a nap before going out for my first night out in Germany. I planned to meet the nice-enough guy and go out. But when I came back hours later, he was no where to be seen while the beautiful man was.


He was with a Norweigan guy and I spoke Swedish which is sometimes close enough so we struck up a conversation. I joined their table and the three of us became fast friends engrossed in discussion of the best political systems and problems with governments that gave way to religion and the universe and everything you can solve with long conversation over beers in Europe.

At some point we headed out to a bar and Dave bought me a drink. I thought it was nice but the thought still hadn’t occurred to me that he might be interested in me.

At some point, we started dancing and that melded into realizing that the beautiful man was interested in me. My body wanted every inch of him.

We kissed and kissed until the sun came up and I had to catch a train to meet up with my class. (I was in Germany for school and had taken an extra week to visit friends and family in Sweden.)

I gave him my email address and hoped. You might meet again, you never know!

I went off to the town I was to spend 2 months in studying German and he continued travelling around Europe. A few days later, I got an email. "Hey gorgeous" which sounds hokey but to this day makes me flutter.

More emails and more. Then we just decided to meet up. I bought a plane ticket, he took the train, and we met up in Bilbao, Spain.

I fell hard.

But he's Canadian, I'm American. I was 20, he was maybe 22. We were too young, too focused, too unsure. We kept talking though.

And visiting. He came to visit me twice and each time was amazing.

But we never went beyond that.

I got married. Maybe I shouldn't have. I was so sure. I remember how sure I was that whole day. So many people remarked on how happy and in love I looked. It was truly the best day of my life.

But the doubt crept in between the sheets the very first night. The night that my husband crawled into our marriage bed and initiated our married sex life with the possibly the worst sex I've ever had.

We'd had sex before of course. Mostly good. I'd never thought my husband to be the best in bed I'd ever had, but I was ok with what we were working with. There was a lot to be sure of.

So when he got off of me and ran to the bathroom and threw up, a seed of fear/doubt/disappointment was planted. I knew we'd both been drinking all day and felt maybe that I should've expected it. But that didn't make the seed go away.

Last night, he didn't sleep in our bed. He got up and slept in the extra bedroom.

And I didn't care. I scooched over and enjoyed sprawling across the middle. I snuggled under the covers and just didn't care.

And I had a dream that pictured the intense look of Dave.

And now I'm finding myself contacting him again, looking at old pictures. And wanting...