Friends with Benefits does NOT include medical

This one comes with a warning. Ooh, I love warnings- they present the threat of danger and they just make me want to do whatever I'm being warned about THAT MUCH MORE!!

Consider yourself warned. This blog entry involves sexytimes and I've tried to make the details as minimal and tasteful as possible, while not taking away from any of the essential bits that make a story a story.

If you know me, you may know that one of my biggest fears is dying in a sex-related injury. An SRI, if you will (this is my favorite of two pseudo-medical terms I use frequently- the other being "UDI" which stands for "unidentified drunken injury.") This fear is second only to the fear that I will be mistaken by a pedophile while I'm wearing a backpack and no makeup and I won't be able to find my ID to prove to him that I'm 25 not 14. I'm sure the fact that it's a Hannah Montana backpack won't help my case.

I, like many of you, have had my share of SRIs over the years. Thankfully, no serious ones. Most are pretty standard- who hasn't slammed their head against a headboard or a wall? I've been elbowed in the face, accidentally thrown off the bed (thankfully not a bunk bed), had the wind literally knocked out of me (hurts like a mother), and gotten bruises of all shapes, sizes and colors. I've pulled more muscles during the throes of passion than I did back when I played competitive sports. But I've never landed in the hospital. The same cannot be said for all of my sexual partners.

Yes, I have finally sent a man into the emergency room. When he first texted me to this effect, I was mortified. Then I found it hilarious. And finally, I found myself with a warm feeling that I recognized as pride.

Is there something seriously wrong with me? How could I possibly be proud of myself for contributing to a serious injury? My ego apparently knows no bounds.

It's not like I get off on hurting people- far from it. But there is something about knowing that a man nearly literally broke his back to please you that is a little bit....flattering.

I've always worried that I'm too much for people. Too much personality, too demanding, too stubborn, too loud, too dramatic, too opinionated, too passionate. Too randy? The fear has crossed my mind. Most guys would say that there's no such thing...but most guys also haven't ended up with a herniated disc after a one-night stand.

I was once talking with some people at my old job about sex (this was a frequent topic of conversation at the workplace- a bit unsettling when you remember that we were surrounded by dead bodies.)I was describing a favorite position that can best be described as "acrobatic". My coworker vocalized his fear that I was going to fall and break my neck one of these days. He suggested that I tell potential lovers "Yo, before we get too freaky, I think you should know that I don't have health insurance."

Funny, yes, but maybe also a bit true. Should I make men sign a release form prior to getting down? Something to free myself of any legal responsibility for injuries incurred? In this day and age when people sue McDonald's because they're fat, should I cover all my bases before rounding any?

Or should I just realize that sex is an experience in which one gives up complete control, and as a result you've got to take the bitter with the sweet? I think at the end of the day, I'd rather screw with such reckless abandon that we both risk personal injury than have timid vanilla sex that barely affects your body, either positively or negatively. I believe that most of my partners have felt the same. Even ER Boy is at a place where he can laugh about it. AND he wants to see me again when he's feeling better. I'll have to think about it. I've got to hand it to the guy for putting in so much effort, but honestly- I didn't feel we were particularly physically compatible. The fact that he landed in the hospital is possible further evidence of this. We may not be the best fit, and that's okay. It's all a learning experience, and while this was my first time back in the saddle (pun intended) after a bout with celibacy, I'm not going to take it as a sign that I should just give up and take a vow of chastity. There are plenty of fish in the sea or some such cliche, and I look forward to finding someone who challenges me both in and outside of the bedroom.

Besides, I totally have health insurance now. ;)

"It's not me.....it's you"

So I've been a bad blogger. I went AWOL. The truth is, I was intimidated to blog after my last post. Not that I think my last post (about how romantic comedies ruin one's ability to be in a relationship) was super brilliant and is the sort of insightful entry that should get me a book deal or anything. I wait, I do think that. I'm so vain. I probably think this blog is about me.

Those of you who know me well (or really at all, for that matter) know that fall is my absolute favorite season. This has a lot to do with the fact that it's the season of my favorite holiday, Halloween. But there's also something about the crisp air, the changing leaves, the seasonal drinks at Starbucks, and bundling up in cozy layers that I find somewhat...romantic.

This weekend I got my fall clothes out, and was postively giddy as I unfolded my chunky sweaters. I've got an awesome coat, a cute hat, cable sweaters, argyle socks, and comfy boots. There is however one major accessory I'm lacking this fall- a cute boy to cuddle with.

Truth be told, I can't remember the last fall season where I didn't have someone I could call on a chilly autumn evening for movies, tea and spoonage. It's possibly been years. This year, as I find myself without prospects, crushes or even single guy friends who can indulge my snugglesluttiness, I am super lonely. This weather has me wanting love more tangible. Note to readers, listening to Bright Eyes in cold weather while you're depressed about being single does NOT make you feel better. In case you were considering it.

Can I possibly be so shallow that the main reason I want a boyfriend is because it's cold outside and I simply have a physical need for the warmth of another person's body? I'm finding myself hating every couple that I see these days- kissing on a near-empty subway car, stopping to take a picture in front of an obscurish NY landmark, or holding hands at a charming Park Slope coffee shop. These are the sort of things that usually make me go "aww" on the inside- despite the jaded exterior that I've worked so hard on. Heh. Hard on.

I don't seem to be the type of girl that men want a relationship with. This isn't self pity talking. I'm going on history here. Most of my "relationships" have been of a purely physical nature. Sometimes this was because the person I was sleeping with wasn't very interesting, so I never bothered to try and take it to an emotional level. Sometimes they were very interesting, but they had some sort of fatal flaw that made them undateable in my eyes. And sometimes, they were people that I loved very, very much. People who made me want to forget all my cynicism and just jump headfirst into something beautiful. And yet- inevitably, these people did not share my same desire.

You have no idea how many times I've heard the "I just can't be in a relationship right now because I'm not ready" speech. So many different men. So many different reasons for their broken state. I think it's time that I faced something that isn't easy to face without becoming a bit depressed and discouraged. It's not that these people just couldn't be in a relationship. It's that they just couldn't be in a relationship with ME. And I've done the whole "it's their loss, 'cuz I'm awesome!" thing. I can repeat that over and over again like a mantra, but when am I going to start actually believing it? How many times can you get the "It's not you, it's me" speech before you wake up and realize that it may just be you.

Last winter I fell very hard for someone despite my brain consistently trying to tell me that I should keep one foot on the ground. As usual, I ignored common sense, warnings, and signs that perhaps I should be a little more cautious. I allowed myself to get more and more swept away and I convinced myself that this was going to be a legitimate relationship "someday". But that day never came for us. I can remember the night that I realized it never would. This person had once called me, drunk from a party. It was back in the butterflies stage, where his 2am call wasn't annoying it was endearing. He slurrily confessed his feelings for me and said the following: "Do you think the day will come when we're at a bar surrounded by our friends and I give you a long kiss and then dip you because I'm just so proud to be with you?" It was probably said a lot more eloquently than that- I don't have the same way with words. But that was the jist of it. I longed for that day to come, possibly more than this person could have ever guessed.

About a month later, a mutual friend invited me out for drinks. I knew the object of my affection would be there, and I couldn't wait to see him despite having seen him two days before (yes, I was THAT girl.) I arrived at the bar. He didn't get up to greet me. He spent the next 20 minutes or so ignoring me. There aren't words to describe how crushed my heart felt. It was then that I knew. There was no showing me off, or kissing me in front of his friends or being "SO proud to be with me". I was to be kept behind closed doors. My heart was positively broken.

So I did what I do best. I got drunk and belligerent and sabotaged everything. My heart broke all over again when he told me he couldn't see me anymore, but I don't know why that is. Things weren't going anywhere anyway. I finally realize that.

As I've watched (from a distance) this person date other girls, I can't help but have noticed (through facebook stalking) that he seems to have no problem with treating these other girls the way that I longed to be treated. Like a girl that you like so much you can't wait to introduce her to your friends. It wasn't him. It was definitely me.

And today, as I'm trying to rebuild some type of friendship with this person, I wonder if I can truly be friends with somebody who I felt so emotionally rejected by. I've blamed myself countless times for the reason we were doomed as lovers. I've told myself it was the drinking, the yelling, the neediness, the drama. I've cursed myself for letting such a great guy get away from me. But then I think back on that night at the bar. Back when things were still good, and there hadn't been countless nights of drama. When I saw him disregard me. I regret many of my actions, but I think the ending would have stayed the same.

Which begs the question- what was wrong with me? Was I not pretty enough, not smart enough, not interesting enough, not mature enough? Why am I good enough to be intimate with but not good enough to introduce to your friends? Why am I always the "close friend" and never the "girlfriend"? Furthermore, why am I the friend you can sleep with but not date?

I hope to be back to normal soon, making witty observations, pop culture references and taking jabs at the people who piss me off. I'm just not myself these days. The other day I received a BEAUTIFUL message from somebody who expressed their huge crush on me. It was flattering beyond words, but I told the person that I am simply broken. Oh how the tables have turned. Maybe life really is a series of being broken by people who in turn were broken by those who came before you. And you in turn will continue the sort of negative "pay it forward" by breaking someone else in return.

I hate to be a cynic. Please, someone, someday- prove me wrong?