Different societies and people have many different views and attitudes towards sex. Some people think sex is dangerous and results in punishing circumstances. Other people think it's a great blessing and believe it's healthy to constantly engage in sexual acts. Just for today, I have no idea where I stand on this. I have gotten very hurt in relationships where very little, if any, sexual activity took place, and I have cavalierly ended relationships that were highly sexual. However, I am as susceptible to sexual jealousy as anyone else. I think like everything else I have to turn my sex life over to my higher power...I guess.

In high school I (unconsciously) took a Vow of Chastity and, subsequently, chanelled all my sexual energy into my AP classes, SAT preparation, Yearbook Executive Goddess duties, and sports (the kind for the seriously self-punishing and repressed, like, cross country. I meant business!) . It served me very well in high school (landed me at an Ivy League school) and kept me out of trouble. How I miss those carefree days!

However, when you're 31, a sexless life doesn't feel quite as carefree. While it's nice to be free of all those messy emotional entaglements (that inevitably cloud my judgement), it can be somewhat anxiety provoking when there really is no end date in sight (i.e., in high school I had the future fantasy equation of College = No Parents + Freedom + Sex).

If I start feeling too spinsterly I could always venture into that messy grey area (which I spent my entire 20's in), but (do I even have to say it)...casual sex has so many limitations (frequently lacking in quality, being one of them). Or I could patiently, exhaustively, puritanically (I'm writing in gerunds now) wait for The Right Situation or The One (though, I have to say, I really hate that expression). Sadly, this includes occasionally venturing into the excruciating world of dating. Which is all well and good if you have faith that your life will work out as planned, but this has never happened for me!!!

Just for today, I remain patiently (though a little hopelessly) chaste...(until further notice).

Yes, Ladies and Gay Men (or heterosexual men who appreciate raw, smoldering masculinity set in fantasy Middle-Earth) today is the day that "Lord of the Rings" opens and Viggo Mortensen sets women's (and men's) fantasy life aflame with his portrayal of Aragorn. If only I could find a man who had to run around in a suit of armor, with sweat dripping off his head, and the gleam of victory mixed with rebellion, passion, and a touch of madness. Sigh. I wonder if I can get tickets tonight.

Boy, things got pretty deep. It's sort of shaken up my world. Like, I don't know who I am anymore. If Samantha is capable of monogamy, Miranda of an open heart, Charlotte of multiculturalism, and Carrie of faith, then who am I? Not to mention Mr. Big, who did about 400 years of therapy in a couple of episodes, (none of which we saw), and is now capable of deep and abiding love. The vortex of bitterness that was Sex and the City is no longer there to suck the doubt out of my belief in romantic love, and I'm left with trashy and evil reality shows on which to thrust my outrage. I'm grateful to the show for finally letting their characters grow up, I just think they went through so many levels so fast, I don't know where I am in the process. I'm thinking it might be a couple of seasons ago, when Carrie was dating Aidan and left Mr. Big to his own pathetic alcoholic life. I think this might be withdrawal symtoms.

Just for today, I can let go of Sex and the City.

Without going into the obvious sexual associations of buying a new bed and chucking the old (and when I say chucking, I'm talking dumpster), I will say that I suffered what seems like an inordinate amount of grief over doing away with a material object. It's not just all the old energy of old boyfriends (which is actually a GREAT reason to get rid of it), but it's also the family members who slept on it and just the old me. I had it for X number of years, (OK, and I'm not usually embarrassed to write about anything), and that is too long for anyone to own one bed. Anyway, not only did I cry, but I suffered from serious physical symptoms (not IBS), and felt depressed for a full day. All over a stupid bed...

Just for today, I release my old bed.

I was putting out vibes towards Frame Store Guy (who looks about 25 and has tatooes all up and down his arms...not, by some standards, husband material...but who am I to judge...) Anyway, I was putting out the vibes and seeing if I still got the stuff, and then I realized, I think I got it...but is this really the appropriate place to put it? And I then I had the I'm Officially in My Thirties Epiphany, that being a sexual being on this planet who is in touch with her sexuality, is a lot more about discretion than anyone ever talks about (i.e., Sex and the City). So much of the sex out there (from what I've heard...) seems to be about everything but celebrating (let alone respecting) the creative force of that energy. I'm not saying that boredom, insecurity, guilt, and a mis-directed desire for power, are bad reasons to have sex, just not my choices (for today). 'Cuz being empowered is really just good timing, and saying "no" is the only thing that makes "yes" a choice at all. It's so much easier to have rules and regulations about husband prospects, or lover prospects, but it always seems more complicated in real life.

It's really an art form, if you ask me (and I'm assuming that you are asking).

Just for today, I'm empowered to not flirt with Frame Store Guy.

If there's one thing I've learned from watching the entire second and fourth season of Sex and the City in one sitting, it's this: Mr. Big is already outdated (for me). Just like my G3 PowerBook (same one as Carrie's), and all technology, male archetypes (or stereotypes) evolve constantly and the whole big business, cigars, limos, and commitmentphobia, just kind of reeks of the late 90's, early 00's. Maybe he just wasn't that original to begin with, or isn't my "type." Or maybe I have my own experiences with guys who made mucho dinero but who had yet to build any substantial personal value system that makes a guy a Man. So if money, arrogance, and emotional unavailability aren't attractive to me, I guess I will give the Carrie/Mr. Big relationship points for good sexual chemistry, but....really, would that carry six whole seasons and an ongoing relationship in TV Land?

I think the truth is that I don't find jerks attractive anymore. Horay, for me, but since I live through the lives of fictitious television characters, I wish Carrie had ended up with Aiden or Berger.

Just for today, I can find nice guys attractive and not see the big deal in Mr. Big.

Watching that much (7-8 hours) of Sex and the City really drummed into my
head how much pressure Society puts on women to get married. It's such a
big deal for a woman in her thirties to be unmarried that it's worthy of six
whole seasons!

There's a line in the fourth season when Carrie is engaged to Aidan and she's telling everyone about her fears and doubts and Charlotte tells Carrie that all brides-to-be feel scared, and Carrie says, "why don't they speak up?"

It made me realize that none of my friends who are married ever expressed any fears or doubts about marriage. And that's kind of scary to me. (So are "perfect" relationships where no one argues, those are really scary...) Just like it's OK for men to be competitive or ambitious, it's OK for them to show fear of commitment...but the women I know act like it's an afront to their choice of partners, to not seem wildly happy (and maybe it is). It's scary because it's all going to hit the fan once the placenta hits the floor and they are overwhelmed with post-partum depression (otherwise known as, Not Getting Out Any Time Soon). Not me. I'd rather have mild depression along the way. That way I know it's real life. But my friends insist on being happy. I guess they aren't as comfortable with an outward display of bitterness as I am. It's probably not very ladylike. I have dated a few men who would find it more attractive if I didn't feel the need to express myself quite so much. And I do fear sometimes that my having an active mind whose thoughts I can't stop myself from communicating, automatically disqualified me from more than one marriage pools (and much polite society...hence the blog...but I digress again!)

The truth is, for many years, pregnant women made me nauseated, weddings gave me IBS (sans an open bar), and women with toddlers looked like they may as well be behind bars. Now it all looks vaguely tolerable. I've got a little further to go to get to desirable. And that's the troof. Thank you S.I.T.C. Without your wonderful episodes I wouldn't be so conscious of how programmed I am by this country led by white Christian freaks! Thank you Samantha for showing me how repressed I am! Thank you Miranda for being a great mirror to my bitterness! Thanks Carrie for being one of the only other women I know who expresses ambivalence about marriage! Thanks Charlotte for showing me how empty the marriage fantasy is (though I pretty much already knew).

Thank God for the gay men who created Sex and the City...(I know there were wonderful women writers on the show, but it does seem that penises and creative control go hand in hand - so to speak).

Just for today, I am grateful for Sex and the City.

I spent yesterday with the Relatively Happily Married Couple (relative only because they have two kids under two) who live down the street. They love me because I play with their kids and they can do things like drink coffee and clean up day old burritos from plastic pails...Anyway, I was telling my friend Montana about my new relationship when her husband walked in and cut to the chase with, "So, how is the sex?!" Before I could answer Montana embarked on her journey into her sexuality as a married woman and how certain things have gotten stretched out. It only took a few minutes for her to pull out her neon vibrator and asked Jack (her husband) in a dead serious tone, "Does this go all the way up me?" Jack thought about it and answered yes, like he was saying yes to salmon for dinner.

Just for today, I can appreciate the lack of sexual hang-ups of my Happily Married Couple Friends.

I must have taken a vow of celibacy in my sleep or something because the last ten months have been a veritable Sahara desert-land of a dry spell. If the new moon pagan ritual I participated in on Friday evening doesn't start to kick in soon, I may have to take drastic measures to release the blockages against my sex life. This afternoon I went on a hike with two Godessy friends of mine who couldn't stop yammering on about their sex lives (the trees, bushes, and lizard's ears were alive with the sounds of women in their 30's comparing notes on their various experiences...so much to learn). Just rubbing it in...damn.

Just for today, I surrender the monastic life.

I've been very remiss..I've been so busy lately. Not only do I have to work full time (can you imagine?!), but I've rediscovered salsa dancing. It's a very slutty (i.e., sexy) style of dancing. You dance with someone like they're the love of your life, and then the song ends and it's on to the next partner. If I'm going to embrace celibacy with the faith that it will lead to a solid relationship, I need somewhere to express my Inner-Slut (cuz we all have her/him).

According to my dance teacher (I'm trying to build up my library of moves), salsa dancing is the last place in American society where men have control (sorry). But, hey, so long as I don't have to hide my face behind a black scarf and can enjoy endless prospects for financial abundance in the work force, I'm all for giving up control on the dance floor. Not only that, but the more responsibility I take on at work, the more I WANT someone else to tell me what to do (although, I have to say, more than a few guys have reminded me to let them lead...old habits die hard).

Just for today, I can dance salsa.

I mean, really, if I'm going to delete fifty comments by "asian wet pussy" a day, I may as well have something to say about our culture's complete and total desensitization toward pornographic imagery. I remember when being a porn star was considered a bad thing. Now, I can't surf late night TV without finding some documentary about the lives of porn actors (anyone else watch HBO?), or worse (and more common) about wanna be porn stars (Myspace?). I thought the whole point was to get paid for doing it in front of a camera. At what point did it turn into an honor?

There was a time when porn images illicited a reaction out of me. Now, it's more like bad PR for sex.

Not to mention fashion. I'm all for sexy outfits, but I still like to be clothed. The other day my co-workers and I were trying to think of the most risque outfit someone could wear in public these days and came up with nudity (though, I am thinking of designing a line of "Business Slutty" clothes...).

I really don't want to turn into someone who makes "it used to be..." and "kids these days..." statements, BUT it used to be that sexual imagery was titillating (anyone been titillated recently?...If so, I'm jealous) and kids these days don't have anything left to discover. It's all one giant red light district.

Just for today, I can sound like an old foggey (sp?).

I actually came home from New York thrilled to live in LA. I have a great apartment, a beach (one that I share), and better light...and then I had lunch with a friend today who reminded me of what I'm missing (because depression always begins with the consciousness of what's missing...).

"The sex with _____ is so great...," she told me over the crab cakes.

Sex?! Oh, you mean that thing when two people take off their clothes and rub up against each other...do people still do that?! I thought that went out in 2003 along with sweater coats (though I still have mine).

When I was younger and in a similar sort of dry spell, I could always do something stupid like get drunk at the office Christmas party and go back to the hotel with the cute guy from the New York office while a group of his and my co-workers watched from the bar in the lobby (we ended up becoming friends and having a Margarita everytime he came to town). Now that I'm older and "mature" (a euphemism for jaded and scared), I am relegated to the class of people who wait around at the office Christmas party see who will drink too many mojitos and make-out with the guy/girl from HR/Accounting/Technology/Management/Creative/???... In the end, it's SO MUCH more fun being clueless, but, like my sweater coat, it just doesn't look good on me anymore (not that it ever did...my sweater coat, that is).

At least it gives me something to write about. I can't imagine I would have anything funny to say if I was having the type of sex that my friend is having (swinging from the chandeliers and stuff). It's really fun, it's just not funny.

Just for today, I accept my celibacy.

Coming soon: a chronicle of my past relationships!

On Wednesday night I made the mistake of letting Relentless Salsero walk me to my car. I couldn't find my friends, and I didn't feel like braving the usually tame streets of Santa Monica alone, although, I would have been better off. Not only did I have to stave off Relentless Salsero's very direct proposition for the fifth time (no ceremony, just five words: "will you sleep with me?") but I also had to listen to him drone on about how all Salseros are solely interested in getting a women into the sack (how naiive of me to believe that any man might actually like to dance...). According to Relentless Salsero, what makes HIM special is that AT LEAST he's HONEST about it...

I had to tell him that as much as I appreciate his bizarre and self-defeating honesty, and despite the fact that I have no interest whatsoever in his offer, he might want to consider refining his seduction campaign (it's sort of like a burglar telling a homeowner that he's planning on robbing his house and expecting his admission to keep said homeowner from calling the police). I may not like him, but I would certainly respect him more if he at least pretended to be interested in my work, background, or refrigerator magnet collection (it's small, but unique), at the very least, I would appreciate the opportunity to talk about myself (as many know)...

I suppose, in his own way, Relentless Salseros' attempt at being honest about a possible compulsive behavior is a step in self-improvement and, therefore, the right direction, but, really...who cares? Is this my problem? I'm still left wondering if the the potential muggers and homeless people who haunt the streets of Santa Monica might not be better company (no wonder I'm still single, I can't even pick suitable men to spend five minutes with...let alone the rest of my life).

Just for today, I can spend time with less honest people.

As I mentioned before, I'm not the "marrying type." In fact, I don't think I'm the "birthing type." But now that I'm also not the "desperate type," I'm a little concerned about the quality of relationships that passes for "dating," in our post-Sex and the City (LOVE THAT SHOW...but don't think it did much for portraying healthy sexual relationships).

I think we've taken a few steps back. While I was visiting Rich Tahoe Aunt, she asked me what the deal is with all these stay at home Harvard MBA's mom's having four+ kids. She works with Rich Folk, and notices such things. We both decided that "The Feminine Mystique" (as in Betty Friedan) is back, or, rather, has been creeping back over the past twenty years. My therapist agrees that, despite the fact that we don't wear black scarves around our faces, this is not exactly a great time and place to be a woman. One of the few times we agree on something. Without coming out and saying it, she has alluded to the fact that, through her practice, she has noticed how we live in a slutty society, and that all the free love and hoe-ish looking clothes isn't really benefiting the state of the male/female relationships.

While I'm not saying adopting my nun-like practices is the answer (it's not) I do feel that women are part of the problema. Yes, men need to take responsibility for their impulses, but, at risk of sounding like an old ninny, women who find casual sex "liberating," are lowering the bar on the quality of relationships for all us bitches. I'm not passing judgement on casual sex, it's just what's the point of buying the cow, when you got milk raining down from the sky?!

Then there's the Asian Woman Problem, and when I say "asian woman" I don't mean those born and raised in the US. Asian girls from Asia are really ruining American men. There, I said it. Am I prejudice? A little. I mean, why work on hard things like connections and emotions when you can find a tiny Asian woman who will make no demands? It's not their fault, entirely. The sex trade industry thrives there for a reason.

Stand up for yourselves, sisters! Demand some freakin' respect and acknowledgement.

Just for today, I can make potentially inflamatory statements about the state of women in 2009 America.