My budding mid-life crisis. Take one. Action.
I'm in a Courtyard Marriott in bum-fuck business park, Kansas and, atypically, I can't get to sleep. And it's 11:12 p.m.! Boy, am I up late.
I'm wondering many things. Among them, how I let most of the joy run right out of my life. On the way over here, in a white city-owned minivan filled with focusless brochures, I was scanning through audio hell (FM radio) trying to find something decent to listen to and came across that Seal song 'Kissed by a Rose' or whatever it's called.
I can only think of one thing when I hear that song--Salt Lake Blake. Salt Lake Blake was a guy I met when I lived in Moab. I placed two personal ads while living out there and he was one of the respondents ("respondents"--I tried to kill him Blade Runner style, but he cried so we escaped to the countryside beyond the wire). He came down to Moab in his Volkswagon van--not the hippie kind, but the camping kind, with the roof that can be raised and a little stove and stuff--to meet me and, I'm sure, have sex with me.
We went out to the desert and I totally seduced him. Sure, he could've been a psycho killer, but anyone could, really, and he wasn't. And it was a fun night. He wasn't really my type--he actually modeled, and looked a little too meticulously scruffy to be the kind of guy I usually go for. And his teeth were pretty perfect, and that's just not my thing. But he was kinda sexy and it's good to branch out, and he was into me. So we followed that date with a couple more dates, one of which was in Salt Lake City where he lived.
After dinner; we're in his room. It turned out his seduction song was 'Kissed by a Rose'. Ugh. I mean, it's an interesting song, but it's a cheesy and cliche seduction song and I could only hope that it wasn't going to be followed up by a presentation of a single wed wose or something horrible like that. I mean, I'm much more used to doing it to the likes of the Pixies or, memorably, Beck.
But this post is about my mid-life crisis, not overused fuck songs. And as I made my way to the convention center for a big, cheesy travel show and the booth I am to be confined in all weekend, I found myself reminiscing about all the great seductions that I have been lucky to give and receive, and why the hell it's completely gone from my life. That, and hiking, and dancing myself into a religious-experience trance are sadly missing from my life. And from My Best Friend Ted's life as he, too, was having some of those same thoughts and shared this with me on this very same drive.
I had another paragraph written here and totally chickened out. I'll sum it up: I don't want other men. Not at all. What I want is my sex drive, and my old sex life, back. I don't know if the amount of sex Kevin and I have in our 9-year old marriage is normal--people are too chicken shit to tell the truth, even in their own blogs, so perhaps we'll never know. But I know it's abnormal for the amount of sex I think we should be having, and I'm sure it's totally whack to Kevin.
This is not all on me. It's true that two children, a few extra pounds (ha!) and a shitload of stress have zapped my sex drive. Once a horndog, I can now go for weeks without an inkling. I exercise--isn't that supposed to bring it back? Nah--there's just too many voices to shut out. Pot used to help. A lot. But I'm a city employee and subject to pee tests and I just can't do it. And then I get pissed at Kevin for being able to pick and choose where he puts his effort and then I get stuck with the rest. A downward spiral ensues in my darkest moments, when he pisses me off and then I start to think that pretty much our entire marriage I've been the one bringing home the majority of the pork and sacrificing this and that and even when I worked long hours with a crappy commute and he didn't work I'd STILL come home to a messy house and an empty fridge while he played with the baby. Like I said--dark moments.
But it's not all me. Kevin has taken to crashing on the couch almost every night that we've been back in Hometown. He watches Letterman, and I can't stand Letterman--retire already!, and falls asleep in front of the TV past my bedtime. Or before it, at about 8 a.m., and then I have to hoist the sleeping boys upstairs and turn out all the lights. Seduction? I'm not the kind of gal who needs for him to go to Jared to get me into the sack, but some kind of atmosphere would be good.
We had precious little time between our first date and the second trimester, but we used to make love and we put a little effort into the prep. Do you remember what it was like to prepare for making love and to anticipate it as something to linger over? To spend some time getting oils and music and candles and all that shit ready? Or to spontaneously have on some warm rock in the sun in the middle of a hike? I do. I remember that. And if you're out there saying "Why, Lulu, I'm still doing all that!", well get your oils and put on the Last Temptation of Christ soundtrack and you know what I'm going to say here.
So I guess that's Midlife Crisis Topic 1--missing good, lingering sex. And, cuz I'm old and happily married, missing it with my husband. How do I get it back? I just bought a movie here at the hotel ($12.99)--Zack and Miri Make a Porno--and in the movie they had that sex that you have when you know you're in love with someone. I want it back.
Stay tuned for more adventures when I recount the loss other things that I count among my absolute favorite things to do in this life. Yeah, yeah--I adore my children. But this isn't about them. And I feel like if I could bring a little more joy and wonder back into my life, instead of anticipating Thursday nights because '30 Rock' is on, that would do a whole lot for them.
I'm wondering many things. Among them, how I let most of the joy run right out of my life. On the way over here, in a white city-owned minivan filled with focusless brochures, I was scanning through audio hell (FM radio) trying to find something decent to listen to and came across that Seal song 'Kissed by a Rose' or whatever it's called.
I can only think of one thing when I hear that song--Salt Lake Blake. Salt Lake Blake was a guy I met when I lived in Moab. I placed two personal ads while living out there and he was one of the respondents ("respondents"--I tried to kill him Blade Runner style, but he cried so we escaped to the countryside beyond the wire). He came down to Moab in his Volkswagon van--not the hippie kind, but the camping kind, with the roof that can be raised and a little stove and stuff--to meet me and, I'm sure, have sex with me.
We went out to the desert and I totally seduced him. Sure, he could've been a psycho killer, but anyone could, really, and he wasn't. And it was a fun night. He wasn't really my type--he actually modeled, and looked a little too meticulously scruffy to be the kind of guy I usually go for. And his teeth were pretty perfect, and that's just not my thing. But he was kinda sexy and it's good to branch out, and he was into me. So we followed that date with a couple more dates, one of which was in Salt Lake City where he lived.
After dinner; we're in his room. It turned out his seduction song was 'Kissed by a Rose'. Ugh. I mean, it's an interesting song, but it's a cheesy and cliche seduction song and I could only hope that it wasn't going to be followed up by a presentation of a single wed wose or something horrible like that. I mean, I'm much more used to doing it to the likes of the Pixies or, memorably, Beck.
But this post is about my mid-life crisis, not overused fuck songs. And as I made my way to the convention center for a big, cheesy travel show and the booth I am to be confined in all weekend, I found myself reminiscing about all the great seductions that I have been lucky to give and receive, and why the hell it's completely gone from my life. That, and hiking, and dancing myself into a religious-experience trance are sadly missing from my life. And from My Best Friend Ted's life as he, too, was having some of those same thoughts and shared this with me on this very same drive.
I had another paragraph written here and totally chickened out. I'll sum it up: I don't want other men. Not at all. What I want is my sex drive, and my old sex life, back. I don't know if the amount of sex Kevin and I have in our 9-year old marriage is normal--people are too chicken shit to tell the truth, even in their own blogs, so perhaps we'll never know. But I know it's abnormal for the amount of sex I think we should be having, and I'm sure it's totally whack to Kevin.
This is not all on me. It's true that two children, a few extra pounds (ha!) and a shitload of stress have zapped my sex drive. Once a horndog, I can now go for weeks without an inkling. I exercise--isn't that supposed to bring it back? Nah--there's just too many voices to shut out. Pot used to help. A lot. But I'm a city employee and subject to pee tests and I just can't do it. And then I get pissed at Kevin for being able to pick and choose where he puts his effort and then I get stuck with the rest. A downward spiral ensues in my darkest moments, when he pisses me off and then I start to think that pretty much our entire marriage I've been the one bringing home the majority of the pork and sacrificing this and that and even when I worked long hours with a crappy commute and he didn't work I'd STILL come home to a messy house and an empty fridge while he played with the baby. Like I said--dark moments.
But it's not all me. Kevin has taken to crashing on the couch almost every night that we've been back in Hometown. He watches Letterman, and I can't stand Letterman--retire already!, and falls asleep in front of the TV past my bedtime. Or before it, at about 8 a.m., and then I have to hoist the sleeping boys upstairs and turn out all the lights. Seduction? I'm not the kind of gal who needs for him to go to Jared to get me into the sack, but some kind of atmosphere would be good.
We had precious little time between our first date and the second trimester, but we used to make love and we put a little effort into the prep. Do you remember what it was like to prepare for making love and to anticipate it as something to linger over? To spend some time getting oils and music and candles and all that shit ready? Or to spontaneously have on some warm rock in the sun in the middle of a hike? I do. I remember that. And if you're out there saying "Why, Lulu, I'm still doing all that!", well get your oils and put on the Last Temptation of Christ soundtrack and you know what I'm going to say here.
So I guess that's Midlife Crisis Topic 1--missing good, lingering sex. And, cuz I'm old and happily married, missing it with my husband. How do I get it back? I just bought a movie here at the hotel ($12.99)--Zack and Miri Make a Porno--and in the movie they had that sex that you have when you know you're in love with someone. I want it back.
Stay tuned for more adventures when I recount the loss other things that I count among my absolute favorite things to do in this life. Yeah, yeah--I adore my children. But this isn't about them. And I feel like if I could bring a little more joy and wonder back into my life, instead of anticipating Thursday nights because '30 Rock' is on, that would do a whole lot for them.
posted by lulu | 9:12 PM
5 Comments:
As someone with kids, work stress, and late nights, I understand what you are saying here.
I won't claim to (have ever been?) a Don Juan, theatrical lover or anything, but I know what it's like to fall in bed tired night after night after night and think about it . . . but just not having the gumption to make a move.
I'm breaking a major cardinal rule of my blogging life here, but I feel you need the help so . . . I vaguely say that there are times when we go weeks without any sex and it's usually due to work, kids, whatever else is on our minds (and our life is currently much less complicated than yours--something we try our best to achieve, btw). And then we can be quite "active" or a week or so. Yet neither Lynda or I have such an active sexual history as you describe, so maybe we have less to miss? (Certainly we have less partners to compare to.)
Ultimately, i want to say that I sympathize . . . even if I can't completely empathize. I'd say "if I can do anything to help, let me know" but that seems a bit imappropriate in this context.
Hang in there!
(Actually, maybe THAT would be a good suggestion . . . if you know what I mean?)
Thanks, Burb. Your super-secret confession means a lot and is a big help. It's just this stupid society makes it seem like everyone is having all this hot sex and, if you're not, it becomes yet another 'problem' that needs fixed, and yet another form of stress. I ought to be past this stuff...
And the thing is, I want to 'fix' it...just as soon as I do about a million other things that I need to do.
Who's having all the hot sex? Are you letting TV influence you? You know better than to trust THAT! Maybe things are "hotter" in Hometown than here?
I just happen to be in my sad little cube listening to cello concertos on headphones, Tartini's Largo serving as the sad soundtrack for this sad movie, and I have nothing helpful to add from my own sad blue movie of a life, not a thrill ride either, though it's had its moments in the distant, long-gone past.
Quoth the raven. Or was it Hank Williams?
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