No sex, please, it's Thanksgiving

I love this e-card I found over at The Frisky. Kinda sums up my trip so far. It's not this one trip that's really the problem, it's the larger issue of the sexlessness of my relationship. Because sexuality isn't just about the doing it part, it's about the buildup, the anticipation, the flirtation. We have, well, none of that, and I often wonder if that will be the death of the relationship, at least on my end.

Then sometimes I think that's selfish, greedy. I feel like it's selfish to be disappointed when we don't have sex, especially when, say, we're in a hotel room (that's happened both times now). I was pretty sick yesterday, but by the time it was, well, that time, I was better, or at least, comfortable. I guess I just assumed we'd get around to sex in the morning. And that's the thing...we so rarely "get around to it." It's almost like we're already this couple who's been together forever and has been there, done that. If I had a kid, I probably wouldn't care as much (or maybe I would), but since I don't, it just pretty much makes me feel like the least attractive person ever. It's all worsened by the fact that we only have so much time together. I'm not even sure if I'm gonna stay with him in San Francisco, and now also want to shorten my trip so I can go to my friend's wedding.

We'll see. I try to do the whole Serenity Prayer thing about it, because really, I can't make someone want to have sex with me, if they don't. I can, however, decide if that's the kind of relationship I want to be a part of.

I'm reminded of this part from the novel I read on the plane, Katherine Center's Everyone is Beautiful (love the cupcake on the cover, and that I found the galley for $3 at Housing Works on election night!). It's right after the narrator's friend gives her a bag filled with sex toys:

I frowned at the bag while Baby Sam, still on my hip, swiped at it and missed. I thought about all the different types of sex out there. Goofing-around-laughing sex. Just-went-to-Victoria's-Secret sex. Three-glasses-of-wine-on-a-dinner-date sex. We-were-up-all-night-with-the-baby-but-if-we-stay-focused-we-can-be-asleep-in-twenty-minutes sex. Sex that started out as a backrub. Sex that started out as a peck on the cheek. Sex to make a baby. Sex on a lunch hour. Hotel sex. Motel sex. Car sex. Picnic blanket sex. There were thousands, and each variety had its charms. But the truth was, the best kind was the hardest to come by.

"What?" Amanda said, watching me hesitate.

"I'm just looking for passion" I said. "Not you-look-like-a-hot-hooker passion. More like I-want-to-consume-you passion."

Read the book for the rest; it's excellent, possibly even better than her first novel, The Bright Side of Disaster, which I liked a lot.