Sex Can Wait, Masticate!

The new dulche de leche milkshake at McDonald’s is 850 calories of absolute ecstasy. I bought it for the first time and I sipped it, filled with delight each time a straw full contained about 3 tablespoons of caramel. Oh. My. God.

A side effect of struggling with depression, for me, is dealing with the weight fluctuation. I have ranged from hourglass, to Coke bottle, to 7Eleven Big Gulp way more often than I would like. I am not the iconic Janet Jackson, I cannot get away with this shit! The upside is that lately, I have a lot of time on my hands so I try to exercise at least six times a week—but I also struggle with control and discipline problems, so this does not always go well. I am positive that downward facing dog does not involve tears, and you’re not supposed to curse in between each sit up but I do my best to make it through.  The eating continues… 


Finally, I was able to put my finger on it (mmm, chicken fingers…). My terrible eating habits can be traced back to sexual frustration rather than directly to depression. Once the kids go to bed I feel like sitcom jokes get raunchier, commercials get sexier, and I’m sitting alone on my couch (ok, futon) wide-eyed, eyebrows raised going “Well, ok then!” I held onto my virginity for dear life until I was 21 years old—why the hell can’t I keep it together now? The problem is that sex is so available. Sex is attainable to the one-eyed cat lady down the hall, it’s definitely attainable for me, and all of us for that matter. Most women (even my crazy ass) have at least 2 guys that are available for her to sleep with at any given time…but I’m a dreamer. I want more. I’ve been intimate with guys I feel nothing for and it’s just not that awesome. 


There are a lot of bold broads out here that are ridin’ around and gettin’ it—you have absolutely no judgment from me. I actually tried to be like that and it didn’t last for long. This is so silly—but I promised I would bare all—I called this period of my life “Rumspringa”. For those who don’t know, Rumspringa is a period of adolescence in the Amish community when they let their teenagers essentially leave the community in order to experience the world for a certain period of time. After all the sinning is said and done, they get to decide whether they want the renounce Amish culture and stay in the world or go back to their religious lifestyle. Since I am clearly Amish, it made sense in my mind to participate in my own version of this, though I was way past the acceptable age for it.  

Needless to say, the first time I tried it I was about a month in before I was in love and three months in before I was pregnant. I should have learned my lesson from that experience, right? Not so much. After my new little baby was old enough and I thought I could handle dating again I decided to implement another Rumspringa. This perfectly sexy and random guy just kind of fell into my lap, just in time for my sexual awakening part II, BUT, due to a series of crazy schedules and miscommunications I never got to sow any oats, plant any gardens, spread any legs, WHATEVER.  I actually ended up getting to know him the old fashioned way, catching feelings for the guy and WORSE admiring the hell out of him. After two failed Rumspringas it is clear to me that I am not about that life. Hitch up the wagon, Mama, I’m coming home. 


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I’ll carry this sexual frustration with me for God knows how long and hope I don’t need gastric bypass surgery before I find some relief. I don’t need to get to know a good burger with fried egg (yum!) or have the Defining the Relationship talk with an Oreo ice cream sundae before I hop into bed with them. I will wake up each morning, tasting the memories and humiliation of the night before on my tongue. I will throw on yoga pants and do the walk of shame from my bedroom to the DVD player to pop in an exercise video and cry. I will bear the burden of overindulgence. I am fully aware that my drive to work out is the equivalent of the smell of Altoids on an alcoholic’s breath but it’s a start. I would rather have my waistline suffer than play the dangerous game of sex with no feelings attached. 




4 thoughts on “Sex Can Wait, Masticate!

  1. I certainly appreciate your honesty on ETC! And hey, nothin wrong with being big and sexy. You got it goin’ on at any size. Eat up or slim down, I don’t care as long as you keep up this blog. It’s fire!

  2. I found a lot of my frustration going into eating as well. It’s easy and for a while it makes you feel better. Unfortunately, it makes me feel worst in the long run. So I’m also doing my best to limit my caloric intake and exercise. And some days, yes, it seems pointless. A few years ago, I was at the lowest weight of my life. It was great. I felt comfortable in my clothes and in my own skin. I wasn’t constantly pulling on my clothes worrying that something was riding up or wasn’t covered. It was amazing. But I do have to say that being overweight is a lot easier than walking the straight and narrow. But I can’t seem to find any comfort with the extra weight. It just feels bad. Not an easy thing.

    • i definitely understand what you mean about being more comfortable in your clothes. I try to go a little easy on myself in regards to the extra weight and realize it’s a work in progress. The longer I go without relations, the easier it should be for me to kick the habit. Unfortunately, I lack discipline and control but I really need to get it together before I’m on The Biggest Loser

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