All posts tagged: sex

booty

The Premeditated Rebound

Two Sundays ago, my dance company, The Lady Hoofers, performed at an artist’s showcase here in town. This is important for two reasons: 1) I finally had to shave my legs. 2) It gave us some time backstage to go over the rehearsal schedule for the next few weeks. “I may or may not be there on the 4th,” I announced. “What’s up?” one of my dancers asked. “I’m having a booty call.” “Seriously?” “Well, yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I lowered my voice thankful that none of our Youth Company dancers were around to hear me, their fearless leader, A) admit to feeling sexually frustrated and B) use the words “booty call.” Such words aren’t generally part of my vocabulary. I wasn’t even sure if I was using them correctly. (Does one have a booty call? Make a booty call? Place a booty call? I’m still not entirely certain.) As I sat there wondering, another dancer asked, “Who’s the guy?” “An old friend from college.” We met in a friend’s dorm my senior year. …

The questionnaire

The Semi-Gold Standard

It’s been two months.  I say this not because I’m counting but because one of the self-help articles I read recommended doing so. (Okay, that’s a lie.  I am counting.  But I’m okay with that because it means that time marches on, even if I don’t always feel like I’m marching along with it.) More importantly, numerically speaking, spring is less than a week away.  I am so anxious for spring I can hardly contain myself.  I’m ordering iced coffees and eating ice cream and even though I end up shivering halfway through, its worth it, just for the hope of spring and better times to come. Speaking of better times, I decided when TWD and I first broke up that I would take two months to pull myself together and then start dating again once the spring came.  In January, this seemed like a realistic goal.  Now that spring is just around the corner, however, I feel like I might need to give myself a bit of an extension…not because I’m still pining for …

five little monkeys

No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed!

Sometimes writing a blog can be a bad thing.  You wake up at 6:00am and think to yourself, “Crap.  It’s Wednesday.  I need to say something today.  And that something has to be at least marginally entertaining/coherent/free-of-typos.” I often find myself wishing I’d never started Fieldwork in Stilettos— it’s gotten me into trouble at work, it’s gotten me into trouble with my friends and it’s gotten me into trouble in my romantic entanglements—but today is not one of those days. Today is one of those days when I am happy to have a blog. Why? Well, blogs give you the ability to communicate. And blogs give you the ability to communicate things you would rather not communicate. And even though this blog isn’t anonymous, I feel somehow safer admitting things here than I do in the real world. So here goes. Mom…? Pop…? The Wedding Date and I are breaking furniture again. Except this time it wasn’t a chair on the roof deck. This time it was the bed in the guest room at the …

The Art of Sleeping Together

Let’s talk about sleeping together, shall we?  I’m not even referring to having sex, but rather sleeping together in the true sense of the phrase: the act of sharing one’s bed with someone else. In theory, it’s romantic.  You go to sleep together, you snuggle, you wake up together and provided you’re not dating a sleep walker, you can roll over the next morning and whisper, “Good morning -darling/dearest/what’s-your-name-again?” In practice, however, it’s exhausting.  And not just because the act of sleeping together often serves as a prelude for the other type of sleeping together, but because people have habits.  Nocturnal habits, of which they’re often unaware. I, for one, like to sleep on my side.  I also like to sleep with no less than four pillows and I find that balling myself into a cocoon is the most effective way of achieving my beauty rest.  In addition, I loathe tucked in sheets.  Whenever I go to a hotel, my first order of business is to un-tuck the sheets.  In fact, when I asked The …

The “No Boys Allowed” Jail Break

Back in the day, when I was even more confused about what I wanted to be when I grew up that I am today, I took the Myers Briggs personality indicator test.  The results indicated that I ought to become an air traffic controller.  Or a bonsai tree specialist.  But mainly an air traffic controller. I never thought that this rather grim prognosis would come true.  Then again, I never thought I’d be back at home and living with my parents at 26. As far as parents go, Landlord and Chauffeur are pretty cool.  Additionally, there are obvious advantages to living with a pair of responsible adults (my mom went grocery shopping last week, for example, and the tissue crisis has since been solved) but there are also some obvious disadvantages, co-ed sleeping arrangements being one of them. Growing up, I was allowed to have to have a boyfriend (once I hit sixteen at least) but I was only allowed to spend time in my bedroom with said boyfriend if the bedroom door remained open. …

Naked Cartoons?

Just because you’ve got an evening off and a new boyfriend at your disposal doesn’t mean that you should neglect your girlfriends.  Which is why, when an old friend emailed me to ask if I’d go see Chico and Rita with her, I said “yes” without giving it a second thought. I didn’t bother to ask what it was about; she said it had jazz music in it (which was good enough for me) and given the title, I figured it would be like Lilo and Stitch or Rio. Well folks, it was not like Lilo and Stitch or Rio. In fact, there were no animated birds or aliens or animals of any kind. Chico and Rita were people. And they got naked. And they had sex.  I know I’m going to sound like Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess for saying this but animated people are not supposed to get naked!  And they’re certainly not supposed to have S-E-X. I was vaguely horrified. And Rita—well, let’s just say she was no Disney princess. Serves …

My Blog Boyfriend Talks Sex

Rather than bore you all with the details of this year’s Congress on Research in Dance Conference (or the fact that the paper I’m meant to deliver tomorrow morning remains little more than a pile of notes and slides) I’ve decided to ask Zak, my “blog boyfriend” to fill in for me today.  You may know Zak from his blog, Slow Down Son, or from his regular comments on my love life; turns out he was quite the serial dater himself back in the day, so grab yourself a cup of coffee (I’ll probably be on my fourth by the time you read this) and enjoy a little dose of (male) perspective! I was asked by Kat to write a guest post about relationships and sex, with a focus on serial dating and one-night stands.  At first I thought “I don’t have any experience regarding one-night stands, and do I really qualify to talk about serial dating?” As it turns out: I do, and yes.  And they’re related. Prior to my adventures in the online dating world, …

With Good Looks comes GREAT Responsibility

I initially wrote this post several months ago, but it seemed… well, a bit bitchy.  Not to mention politically incorrect.  So I never published it.  But Katie’s response to Monday’s post about the power of persuasion got me thinking… Granted, I don’t want to think right now.  Date #7 will be on his way to Philadelphia in less than 48 hours and if I start thinking, I might do something drastic… I might start listening to my gut and then what would become of my long awaited weekend romance? At any rate, here goes… It drives me crazy when I see girls let guys treat them like crap.  It drives me even crazier when I see gorgeous girls let guys treat them like crap. This isn’t because I think these so-called “gorgeous girls” deserve better than those society would deem less-gorgeous, but rather because they’re in the position to demand better and actually get it.  The way I see it, a victory for one is a victory for all and it’s up to the girls …