I knew this point would come, eventually. This is the point where I have to decide whether or not to share with the world (OK- actually only fifteen people that know me) the details of my not-so-romantic life. I figure that since I've already blogged about how many centimeters my cervix dialated to during labor and what it feels like to have my breasts so engorged with milk that I want to cry, that there really isn't any reason to hold back now.
Additionally, I have a kid, so it's not like anyone should be really shocked that I want to have sex. I'm a sexual being, yet that declaration is difficult knowing that my relatives read this blog. It's a bit awkward to say: "You know, I would consider paying someone to go down on me," (not necessarily the truth and if it was the truth I wouldn't admit to it) while knowing that I might have to sit across from the person reading this blog at Thanksgiving some time in the future.
However, I'm emboldened by one of my favorite writers, David Sedaris, and one of my favorite TV shows, "Sex in the City". If you have any problem with me discussing the more lurid parts of my life, I suggest that you stop reading now.
Now for all of you that are wondering what the hell I got myself into recently that would prompt this disclaimer, don't worry, the juicy details will follow.
So, I went out this weekend with my friend Tracy, who is a single-Mom that lives in my neighborhood (Ali: I will e-mail me as soon as I can. Thank you for introducing yourself). We started off at a sports bar that really had nothing going on and we quickly moved to S*, a local chain bar that boasts really loud bands and a wide cross-section of clientele. Tracy and I laugh because everytime we go out in our little part of south Houston, we end up only meeting men that work at Jiffy Lube or the Ford Dealership off Gulf Freeway. I'm not sure why only men in the car industry go to bars around me, but apparently they do and yes, I actually did get the opportunity to tell one enterprising young man, "No, I don't need my oil changed tonight, thank you."
While at S* we met a guy, guy's brother, and guy's brother's girlfriend (follow all of that?) The guy was interested in getting to know me and he was attractive and friendly, two very good qualities for a bar hook-up (Did I mention that I'm not looking for a bar hookup or a one-night stand? This makes, "going to a bar and meeting someone" slightly more difficult) Tracy and I told him that we both have sons, only three weeks apart. People tend to be very confused when Tracy and I start talking. You see, Tracy and I met on the internet while we were pregnant. For some reason, whenever we confess this point to strangers, they assume that we are a hot lesbian couple with two kids and a need for penile intervention. You can see eyes just light up as we start talking, only to diminish with excitement as we explain that if we were a hot, lesbian couple, we wouldn't need male sexual partner and we would most likely be at home, with our kids.
Nevertheless, the guy in question told us that he had two five year-old daughters. Tracy and I looked at each other, the wheels spinning in our heads. "Are they twins?" I asked. He said no. I start to try and imagine a scenario where a woman could get pregnant and give birth twice in the same calendar year, hence both children being the same age for a brief period of time. More wheel spinning. "Exactly what would it take to get two women pregnant at the same time?" I start to wonder. Turns out his incredibly fertile swimmers got two women pregnant six months apart and he now pays almost 70% of his pay check for child support.
Ahh..more stories to come. This one must end short.