9 Reasons I Wouldn’t Make a Good Lesbian

 previously published on Sammiches and Pysch Meds

I work for the Post Office. I deliver #allthethings before you get to see them. A couple of weeks ago, I delivered Jennifer Aniston’s side boob. All.day.long. She was on the cover of People. It made me realize that there is no trace of wanting to be a lesbian in the corners of my mind.
Below is my list about why I don’t like cherry-flavored chap stick (AKA why I can’t see myself kissing girls).

1. I’m not into the boobs.I get boob all day, every day. Side boob, under boob, all the boobs. Knockers, tits, breasts (I’ve never really called them that) and melons. How do I prefer my knockers? Flat. I’ve warned the hubby that if he ever bulked up his pecs so that his were bigger than mine, I’d file for divorce.

2. I’m not an ass girl.I’ve got my own ass all day, every day. I don’t stare at man ass. It’s not really that sexy of a feature to me. What am I going to do with it? (Am I missing something?) I’ve never contemplated if women have a lot of “junk in the trunk.” I’m not, in general, interested in that body part on any gender. It’s also a “no-fly zone” and NOT an emergency landing strip.

3. I like penis.Sure, there are purple/green/rainbow-colored, plastic substitutes we could use, but they can never beat the real thing. There is something sexy about another person hoovering over you and knowing that they can’t fake that kind of release. Although, the no mess part would be a plus.

4. I can’t stand drama.Exit door 4. Please trip down the stairs on your way out. I’ll shut the door behind you.

5. I don’t need more mood swings.I have enough for five women. There’s Susie Q (I took a happy pill), Esmeralda (sexytime sister), Gia (I need a happy pill), Nicci (the mean bitch) and Miss Thang (ghetto anyone?). A female lover wouldn’t be able to compete. Last place is not a good place to be in a relationship.

6. I enjoy deniability.I usually wait till the last minute to go shopping for Aunt Flo’s personal needs. Like when it’s HAPPENING. I have no one else to put the blame on but myself and no else to yell at me. I’d also have to share my chocolate-flavored everything, which leads me to….

7. I’m not a fan of PMS syncing.Tsunami and Sparta make love. It creates that circle of teenage girls who pass tampons under the bathroom stalls like a new form of crack. Stay away from bitches who bleed together. Unless you get off on that kind of thing, and if so…..ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

8. I’m not all about the smell.Our room smells like sex sometimes. Usually mine. Men don’t really smell like sex. They smell like sweat from sex. A clean “litter box” is still a “litter box,” especially when you add pheromones. Gag.

9. I enjoy being the less hairy one with minimal effort.His legs are supposed to be hairy. And beards make panties come off. It’s a known fact (See: Life with the Bearded J’s). A woman with a beard? Not so much.

10% Pillow Talk, 90% Sex

He said: Sex is one of the few ways that men can connect.

She said: Sex shouldn't be used as an award.

He said: Honestly, we think about it 90% of the time.

She said: Honestly, that is not an attainable goal.

He said: Sex is about survivability.

She said: Surviving should be the top priority.

He said: This is hard...
She said: That's normal isn't it?
He said: ....to explain. You really don't understand that it's like on the top 3.

She said: So me, the children, then sex?
He said. .....
She said: So me, sex, then the children?
He said: .....

He said: I wonder if I will have to order Viagra in 10 years.

She said: We'll have to use your 401k for prostitutes and STD testing.

He said: I think I have what Tiger Woods has.

She said: A doctor's note is not going to save you.




By the way, I really do love my husband.
-J

How Personal is Too Personal and Then There's Sex

    

     However...(you were waiting for the "but" weren't you?)

     I am not a person to cry on someone's shoulder. Personal difficulties stay within the circle of the hubby and myself. It's not to make it look like we are the perfect family and have the perfect life. We definitely don't.
     It is a lonely (for lack of a better word) predicament that we put ourselves in. I just can't justify sharing my problems with others. All they can really offer is support, not answers. I know there are other people in the world have it worse than us, and they putter on and live. I feel like I should, too.
     Life is life and you roll with it or it eats you up. The day starts over with the rising sun and you have a chance to change it to where you need to. It may take 365 suns to get there, though.
     Now, if I gave myself some slack and could complain about one thing...it would be my darling husband. I love him. He is my savior on days when I feel like screaming but some days he is the reason I feel like screaming.

     Before I get ahead of myself, he gave me permission to complain about him!

     What about him? Sex. Yes, I know...my children and my (sometimes) upside-down life are too personal to complain about, but I can talk about sex?
     We are both in our 30's, but seem to live different lives hormonally. He's a raging teenager where I'm a 50 year old, walker using, old woman. He's like, "Afternoon quickie?" and I'm thinking, "I'll be exhausted in the middle of the day and the boy's don't go to bed UNTIL 8:30?" We are polar opposites.
     We do have a theory. That he has an extra pheromone chromosome. If that's even possible. Like I said, all theory. He jokes that the military shot, that they can give recruits to lower their sex drive during basic training or long missions, wouldn't work on him. Enough is never enough for him.
     Now am I insane? Wouldn't a normal person want their significant other of 13 years to still be into them? Not just into them like its a slippers-after-dinner, you-want-a-Tums before bed kind of relationship but like they first started dating? Especially after two kids.

     How am I dealing with this? Not well.

     I really have no means to complain according to Mr. Let's-Just-Do-It. He works 12 hours and then is ready to go when he gets home. Then again when he wakes up. Then again before he goes to work. And then he's on repeat every day of the week.
     I feel like an old vinyl record, forever scratching out the word, "No."