Exclusivity Before Commitment

I thought girl talk was supposed to clarify, sort through, and expand on man issues. In France I've missed out on this kind of banter for the past 2 years, and now I can say, returning from an evening of presque non-stop man/dating/interpreting of hidden messages chatter, I have never been more confused. 

Tonight I was told that the "girlfriend/boyfriend" thing works for guys, because they can date a woman for years and never consider marrying her, but it doesn't work for women. Women apparently don't have monogamous sexual relationships without attachment and a goal of commitment. The open-ended intimacy doesn't work with us. So! What is the solution according to my gal pals? No committed relationships until marriage: in other words, no exclusivity until someone is willing to offer commitment in exchange. 

Apparently it's ok to stop having sex with other people, but dating should remain open until the one "steps up" (I prefer sacks up) and is ready to give you commitment in exchange for  your fidelity and exclusivity. (Which, as the theory goes, would work since women can't give that without getting attached.)

This tends to go against my current belief system which tells me good love and good relationships come from monogamy and intimacy, so go for it, but my attached and insecure side wonders if I'm doing it all wrong.  

Is it ok to give it all? Or are we giving it all to soon? 

Le Respect, la Relation, et le Risqué

Dad I know you read my blog from time to time and this is one of those posts that I ask you avert your eyes and skip over. Seriously.

Keeping an anonymous blog is harder than one may think. That said, I want to again address something I mentioned lightly before. Respect, and the risque. Can we objectify in the bedroom and retain respect in a relationship? Specifically, must we only make love to stay in love, or can we also have sex? Where is the correct medium between slipping into the banal and crashing into the unacceptable?

I'm currently in a very sexual relationship, and I find myself regularly conflicted about what's the most healthy for us. I worry that if we don't have enough sex, or enough exciting sex, things will get boring and we'll cool off into a typical long term; or that we'll go too far and loose a necessary respect for one another. I'm not sure if the later is even possible - granted I haven't seen signs of it, but, (and now for the not-dad-safe sentence) could any amount of oral or anal sex somehow skew our positive feelings for each other? Admittedly, we aren't worshipping one another in these situations; we're objectifying one another. In spite of how much we enjoy it, I can't decide if this is wildly healthy or flat out detrimental.

On the other end of the spectrum, a friend who volunteers with me in my little Dijonaise cafe faces relationship problems amusingly inverse to my own. She's passionately God-fearing, and refuses to have sex, or even extensive physical contact, before marriage. (I know, I know! I thought France was predominantly devoid of that!) This is a kind of love I know nothing about, and, for that matter, can't even begin to imagine. Sex is such an immense part of romantic connection; an integral facet of truly knowing someone, and the final frontier of openness and trust to your partner. Yet she, like me,

-I just found chocolate smeared on my keyboard and have no idea how it got there-

Yet she, like me, spends hours hoing, humming, and heart-aching over what she believes is love.

How much does sex define a relationship? Does it make it or break it? And, if it's such a powerful element, as I believe it to be, can it govern our feelings outside of the bedroom?

My Life and My Love are on Opposite Sides of the Planet Earth.

It's kinda weird that even after 14 months since this blog's birth and my plunge into Europe, I've neglected to address my most prevalent problem in my franco-phonic home away from home. Loneliness. While there have been some notable names who've dropped in an out of the picture, I've found the language barrier and lack of employment and/or physical student body have left me, for the most part, pining away in solitude in my attic apartment. Wondering at a loss what places I have to go, people I have to see, etc. Since meeting and falling in love with TMI I've become uncomfortably dependent on his company; passing my days waiting for him to come home, languishing alone and without motivation.

Certainly, things have got to change. TMI, no matter how much I love him, can't be worth spending my life waiting around. I know I should go back to Hawaii or the West coast and start a life there, I know it.. But leaving TMI would be like slowly chiseling through my own arm with a pocket knife- like that guy who was stuck in a ravine with his arm pinned under a boulder for several days. How do I do that?! Sack up and take the ouch, or stick it out for love? I wish option two were the answer but honestly I know I couldn't go another month, let alone nine, as we've been planning, like this. So I should go. But the little voice inside me yells "no, no! don't do it! He's the one you idiot, don't give him up for anything!!"

If only he'd made the compromise I was counting on and taken an internship in the Napa valley, these questions wouldn't be writhing around in my brain. Well, granted, at least I have something to think and complain about, and instructional videos on how to be lonely.

What is it With Guys and Porn?

The great mystery of modern relationships.

I, beknownst to those of you who know me or read my blog, am a borderline sex addict. (Namely in my current relationship, as I find my partner irresistible, delicious, and I'm in love with him.) Contrary to common relationships, I, the female, am the one regularly complaining that I want more sex. For the record, I'm cute, in shape, always 100% ready and rearing to go, and yet lately I feel I must always initiate and sometimes even ask for sex. All this, and here I discover he's watching porn while I take a shower.

Can someone explain this to me please? I doubt there is really a man in existence who ceases to watch the stuff while he's in a relationship, granted; but why? Especially when he may have a spunky lover like myself? And, if such is the unavoidable case, how do I manage to live with it and not take it personally??

You Say Tomato and I Say Tomahto, lets call the whole thing off

He finished it in a day. HE devoured it. And here I am trudging through it critically like moving through a mud pit in a wedding gown. Can we love each other but not love the same things? How eager we are to say “you're the one,” "you are my other half,” and “we are made for each other,” but if humans have learned anything from the drunken state of love isn’t it that it is completely lacking in any kind of verisimilitude? Ruled by a blinding and overwhelming human desire to be needed; to be loved? So much so in fact, that anyone, (anyone suitably attractive and willing to feed you an “I love you” on a regular basis can be transformed under your rosy outlook into a soul mate? Into “the one?” I remember personally being completely convinced that someone absolutely inside-and-out-wrong for me was exactly what I wanted in a mate. -Until I was somehow and thankfully shaken out of it.

My past experiences have left me tirelessly suspicious of love. Yes: for the past 9 months I have been engulfed in complete mutual obsession. Wild jealousy, monumental sexual passion, and such sincere joy and elation just from the presence, touch, and intimacy with another person that I can’t POSSIBLY expect to be thinking straight. Is liking the same authors important? Is just liking literature enough? The same music? Food? Fashion? Social lifestyle?? What are the essentials and what are the trivials that tell a person if they’ve found the one or if they just want to believe that they’ve found the one?

Every day I tell myself (and we tell each other) that we’re made for one another. That we want to be together for the rest of our lives. My expectations are thus enormous and being let down in even the smallest way stings like a fresh cut and makes me want to cry; call the whole thing off.

Do our likes and dislikes delineate the success of our relationship?

Self Sabotage

I have a perfect relationship, and it deserves care and a lot of optimism. HOWEVER: there is an insecure and ugly side of me that likes to pop up out of the blue and completely incapacitate me with negativity and a seemingly hell bent goal to kill my prefect relationship. I can convince myself that I'm a total waste of space. I feel jealous. I fight myself in an effort to believe that I don't love him. I shrug away when he touches me. It's like I'm so exhausted from living under the fear of loosing him I'd rather just pull the plug and get it over with. Like choosing suicide instead of waiting for an unavoidable death asteroid or planet collision. (which, just for the record, I would TOTALLY wait for.)

Last night we were out late at a friend's and I was in such an inexplicable CHOKE HOLD of depression that I was struggling to not cry in front of all of his friends and was trying to pass off watery eyes as a result of laughing. TMI of course was totally aware of this and when we got home I cried because I was both embarrassed and bewildered by my body's chemical crazyness and my inability to control it. I wanted TMI to understand that it wasn't him, but in these episodes, especially when exacerbated by alcohol, I can't manage to communicate anything rational. His response was slaying me with guilt by crying and insisting that he tries so hard,(which he does: telling me 100 times plus every day that I'm the world's most beautiful woman, that he loves me more than anything, that he wants to spend his life with me, etc: more than anyone really deserves and certainly enough to keep someone secure in a relationship)and that he still can't seem to make me happy and comfortable. He was understandably exhausted. I know my happiness is not his responsibility; and frankly I think my unhappiness has nothing to do with him.

It's wickedly selfish, especially since I'm hurting the man I love by being so self involved; even if the self involved thoughts are intensely unflattering ones. It would break my heart if I lost him. He's perfect for me; he's the one, but the same part of me that wants to tell me that I'm inadequate also wants to be cruel to him and persuade him to leave me.

I've read other people complaining about similar relationship dysfunctions and even know someone who's infamous for driving away partners with self sabotage. I have no respect for it and TMI doesn't deserve to be a victim of it.

Smooth Road, Boring Drive

I can't help but notice the effects a perfect relationship with a gorgeous French man has on my blog. Without the changing sexual partners and scale of sexual quality to complain or boast about, the writing does tend to get a little... domestic.

Last night on Sex and the City, (go ahead, shoot me) someone was complaining about "mind blowing sex" intellectual connection, and the apparent impossibility to have both. I almost thought, with a kind of mild creative dismay, that I do have both: Everyday I have mind-blowing sex, ranging from intimate to dirty and dangerous, and at the same time I have daily affirmations of lasting love, intensive intimacy, and a seemingly infallible connection. That's all great for my well-being, but for my literary life it's been taking it's toll.

The sex is still averaging at 3 times a day, we order take out sushi and eat in front of reruns of Sex and the City and old French filcs, we read in a bed like an old couple and play video games together like a pair of adolescents. As though to damper my present bonheur, however, my mom sent me a bunch of affirmations for the New Year; one of them was "remember, no matter how good or bad a situation is, it will change." Good news for those who are suffering and simultaneously bad news for those having multiple orgasms. Do all good things come to an end? My blog is probably hoping so.

The Storm

Somehow, in my last relationship, even though the man was completely wrong for me and we had almost nothing in common, in the beginning I managed to convince myself that we were perfect; that he was perfect for me. It's amazing how people can bend their beliefs about themselves, about who they are, and what makes them happy when it could mean having someone love you.

I have to consider this when looking at the current rough patches in my relationship with TMI. Yes, I'm much older now and no, he's nothing like my last relationship: but I know my capacity to convince myself that someone is the one just because I want them to be.

Several nights ago after the Christmas dinner party, I told TMI, finally in a moment of truth, that often being entrapped at parties and wine tastings with raucous 20-21 year olds at 4 am, tired, usually intoxicated, and aching to go home, then being told that I have to leave alone and "I don't know when I'll be back" maybe "tomorrow afternoon sometime" is sincerely not the kind of relationship I want to be in. Maybe I can't explain why, but hearing "you go, I'm going to stay here on the couch" hurts. Like seriously. Hurts.

Then, mere hours after I expressed this concern, I discover that starting in July or August of next year, TMI is expected to do a 5 month internship somewhere in France and probably no where near Dijon. As if my visa expiring and being exiled to Hawaii on the other side of the Earth for 3-6 month weren't bad enough. Assuming I don't get the work visa and have to wait for the student one, that could mean a combined time of some 10 MONTHS apart. Not to mention no roommate when I come back to France.

What gets me is that after all of my effort: the studying for French exams, the paperwork, the job searches, the old people meetings, the tears and stress and money all so that I could get back to France, he tells me that he might be gone for 5-7 months? And he tells me this now??

...

Why is this happening?

Sometimes I feel sincerely like the universe is doing it's absolute best to keep my relationship from working. It's like maybe in the future he and I would bear a child who would become a warlord or bring forth the apocalypse. Do the international governments and wine education circuits somehow know about this..??? Honestly I wouldn't be surprised after how many obstacles have been relentlessly hurled at two people in love.

I have to wonder if the right thing really is to march into the haze armed with optimism, or listen to the signs and give up. When faced with such a struggle my first instinct is to submit to despair and climb under the table. When does it stop being romantic and start being foolish to stubbornly whether the storm? He's too young; the odds are against us; we face 10 months of separation; our families are oceans apart; what is keeping me clinging on?

Fashionably Punctual

So like a woman to trade a bit comfort for beauty. Prague may be replaced with Brussels and the new coat was replaced by the below Free People party dress. There's a Christmas dinner party this weekend and it is my intention to be absolutely, ridiculously, gorgeous. So I sacrificed a bit of winter insolation and emptied my Christmas present funds on this dress; let's just pray that it get's here before this weekend. Seriously, if it shows up on Monday and misses the party I'm apt to kill someone.

Also I'd like to mention that TMI and I are now living together. ..And have been for some 4+ weeks. The move-in is traditionally a big relationship milestone, and usually is, if you remember to pop the "let's live together" question, but in our case it sort of went unnoticed until his mail started showing up in my box. We share a laundry basket, brush our teeth together, and take turns coming home to one another and kissing each other good bye in the mornings. It's perfect; and I'm actually startled by how happy I am.

While sometimes loving a human can be a scary thing, (loving a cat or a pair of shoes doesn't bear the threat of a change of heart,) I feel an ever-growing sense of gratitude and, cheesy as it sounds, awe; amazement that I could ever have been this lucky. And as I happily complete the transformation from single to settled, I can only hope that my luck lasts. ..Be it for lasting love, or a just a dress in the mail.

That Jerk Mr. J

I waited up for him till 4 am then gave up. I succumbed to sleep while feeling I had left him to the wolves. In my mind I was hearing him laughing and chattering while I huddled alone in the dark. Of course he came home, and of course everything was all right, and yet the weekend left me feeling like a new person. I feel weird. The wine tasting plus the night left alone with my imagination totaled my brain in a crash of jealousy.

I keep thinking of the girl I had the misfortune of watching all of Saturday, the one who had him momentarily before he had me; had his virginity in fact, and I see his hands that I love moving over her skin, I hear his passionate breathing while he moves over her body, kissing her mouth, being inside of her.

And suddenly I feel like I don't know the guy. Of course every one has a past. Mine is much more populated and involved than his certainly has been and there's no reason I should be letting it affect our present. Except there she was: a physical, tangible, real person in front of me and no longer something I could pretend was imaginary or safely in forgettable history.

I have loved, but I've always managed to keep a rational distance from that jerk Jealously. And now, somehow, I've let him get so close to me that he could slip his hands around my neck and cut of the oxygen to my brain. I no longer feel love, I just feel possessive and skittish. How do I get out of this and back into the air?

The One's Shelf Life

The work visa fell like a stone giant and crushed beneath it lay the quivering remains of my hope for coming back to France. Last night I had to look at TMI and know that we had a finite number of kisses between us; a dwindling number of times I would open my eyes to his in the morning.

Of course, I cried like life was a lost cause long into the night and again this morning. It doesn't help that I'm visiting with TMI's family in the South, wanting to be well liked but sitting silent at each meal with a trembling lip.

Hurled yet again into post-graduate-obscurity. I hate not having a path, and for a few horrific moments I didn't even know what hemisphere I was going to commence my life as a hopeless hobo in.

Fortunately, this afternoon, TMI took a determined eye to the internet and found me some Masters programs I could pursue here in France, assuming that my French were good enough and that I could find the money. There are none in the city of Dijon, so we would only see one another on the weekends, and I wouldn't be starting until September of next year; meaning 9 months of separation.

Does love, realistically, have that sort of endurance? I mean everything has a shelf life, right? This is the one you guys; this is the one I want to make babies with and wake up to every morning. The one and only one I want to kiss before brushing teeth or feel smooshed against me when I'm falling asleep. This is a scary time and I want to know: can I put the One on the shelf, and does it have to hurt this much?

The Driving Force

Late last night I went out dancing with TMI and his friends. As is the norm of my life abroad, I had to overcome my shyness and discomfort of being in a group of someone else's French speaking friends, but I somehow managed to be at least part-way to comfortable. I was wearing a big sweater and not feeling particularly attractive, but I convinced myself to dance away my inhibitions and relax. I kept it up for 30 or 45 minutes and I was under the impression we were having fun. TMI is a wonderful dancer: fun and creative, and I was feeling overcome with pride and love. Finally, to avoid sweater + dance floor induced heat stroke, I stepped off to the side to take a break. He came after me.

...To tell me that I was dancing too provocatively and "sending a message" to all the other men in the club that I was "easy" and "wanted sex."

There I was: standing in a sweater amongst scantly clad French girls, admiring TMI for his dance moves when suddenly I learn that he is, in fact, aggravated and "embarrassed" by me. I told him I wanted to leave and I didn't want him to come with me.

I was furious, but also tired and feeling hurt, so I didn't have it in me to fight or yell when he insisted he leave with me. At home, I was fixing to go to sleep without talking about it, but he said: "I feel like if we don't talk about this now we'll just continue our relationship always feeling like there was a problem we didn't solve." I conceded, but naturally, the talking just made things worse.

Here are the straight up facts: I love him more than I've ever loved anyone. He's gorgeous and talented: I'm courageous and beautiful; but we are both detrimentally jealous and insecure. In the end I almost suspect the fear of loosing one another is what will drive us apart.

When is it Right?

In light of the good-and-understanding-person critera: no body is perfect, relationships require compromise, and beauty is only skin deep; how do we ever really know when it's right?

After doing some very disappointing google searches for "am I in love" or "should I commit" or "is he the one" and turning up a horrific explosion of illiterate and predictable myspace quizzes created for hormonal preteens recovering from their first kiss tremors, I decided someone needed to put their foot down and look at this practically.

What really makes a relationship the right relationship? When is it safe to spill the L-word; to move in together; to start talking about children and stoping in front of jeweler windows to admire diamonds? Is there a criteria? And, given the different experiences people may or may not have, does it change from person to person? I got a little carried away and started asking around. "What are the 4 qualities of a perfect relationship?" Here's what I've uncovered:

guy # 1: 24, Paris, FR

laughs, the ability to compromise, variation, and peace

lady # 4: 60, HI, US

mutual love, respect, understanding, and shared interests

guy # 2: 27, Paris, FR

trust, understanding, discovery, and beautiful sex

lady # 2: 23, OR, US

commitment, stability, passion, and adventure

guy # 3: 25, HI, US

forgiveness, sex, humor, sympathy/apathy

lady # 3: 22, AK, US

communication, great sex, support, appreciation

lady # 1: 23, Dijon, FR

passion, compatibility, communication and ambition

Who woulda-thunk that with all the struggling and angst and worry that can be cultivated between two people that the desirable qualities of a relationship (at least in my small sample pool) are so simple and universal? Shared interests, communication and humor = Compatibility, passion = Sex, and variation, discovery, adventure and ambition all fall into a seated desire to avoid the monotonous = Innovation.

Is it safe to say that if we have these three we're doing it right? -And if we're missing one or all it's time to hit the road? Can two relationships be completely different and still good for unique reasons?

In a culture where we're taught to compromise and accept what's wrong, how do we know when it's right?

The Number

About a month ago, when TMI and I took a day trip to Beaune, I asked him his number. I'm at 5. Or.. 6, if we allow it to be complicated by a bit of gray area. He surprised me by responding that he had lost count; accredited to the fact that he was often victim to casual tristes and flirtation that got a bit out of hand. I was a little taken aback by this, maybe even a little jealous or concerned, but probably enjoyed thinking my partner was well liked and well in the game.

Last night, however, as it was the night before he leaves for his three week internship, we got in a little tiff about him not trusting me. He seems fairly convinced that in his absence I'm bound to have sex with anything and everything that moves in Dijon before he gets back. (I think I can partially blame IFFTP for this. If you're not in the know, TMI has found it and, as I for the most part REFUSE to be censored, it's often a strain on our relationship.) Anyway, I was eventually driven to protest that he had had a much more devious history than I. And then, face partially smooshed into his pillow, he said, "no, actually, I lied."

"What? Really? Why? ..well give me a number."

"What like, a real number?"

"..Not a fake one."

"Do I have to count you?"

"No. -Yes. I don't care just tell me."

Turns out, the answer was one. And she had come shortly before TMI and I met. Frankly, I'm shocked. But that would explain a lot. Does it matter? Should it matter? It takes a bit of a transition to go from thinking you were dating someone with one lifestyle only to discover it was one totally the opposite. But who's to say this isn't better? -That it doesn't speak to an honorable character or.. something?

All the same, I put him on the train an hour ago and kissed him sincerely on the platform. Time to stretch my muscles of fidelity for the next 3 weeks; despite my rugged past I plan to put my best foot forward at being faithful.

Can Lovers Love it Rough?

When it comes to sex, there are few who can honestly ignore the undeniable hotness of getting roughed up a bit. Several days ago, in a conversation with one of my closest and best loved ladies, the two of us got to talking about a mutual appreciation for getting a little aggressive in the bedroom. TMI and I, though the sex has always been passionate, spontaneous, and.. high energy, have recently started pushing into the realm of throwing one another down on the mattress, bra ripping, and hair pulling; and, hands down, its been fantastic.

But I can't help but wonder: before sentiments start to sneak into the relationship, a lack of restraint during sex is usually nothing to bat an eyelash at. But once "I love you"s get into the mix I for one start to feel a little conflicted. I want to be frisky, but I also want a relationship based on mutual respect. Is this possible if we allow ourselves to be objectified in the bedroom? Is it dangerous to talk dirty and get rough if you're attempting to build a heathy partnership? Should lovers stick to calling it "making love" or can we cut loose and yell "fuck me!" once in a while?

Disappointingly, previous relationships of mine never dared breach the boundaries of slipping anything less than pious language during sex. Everything had a safe and cutesy nickname and we didn't do anything that could ever feasibly be more "sex" than it was "love making."

What I'm happily discovering, however, is that going over the edge has only strengthened my relationship. Knowing that we love each other makes getting crazy feel safe. Where I might have risked feeling a little victimized with more casual encounters, placing myself in compromising situations with TMI feels exactly like it should: daring, indulgent, and impossibly sexy. ..And I STRONGLY recommend it.

The Weekend, and the Story of B

I had the good fortune to spend the weekend yet again in the colorful South with TMI's family in Sauzet.

Between delicious and drawn out meals, we went on walks, runs, bike adventures and gallery visits, plus one outing to a river to swim around in the icy water. We made our usual constant and creative love on every rock, table, park bench, and physically possible place that turned up throughout the weekend.

Despite all this goodness, about half of the time, I was totally plagued by two extremes: A) I really love this guy and am insecure and think he's gonna break my heart and this makes me miserable, or, B) I'm not really in love with this guy, and, if I stay with him, I'm just missing out on something better and this also makes me miserable.

While problem A can be jotted up as typical insecurity and latent desire to keep a little turbulence in the romance, problem B is a little more complicated, and, well, embarrassing.

Last summer, when I first came to France and fell head over heals for the repulsively unattractive, smoking, and foie gras farmer, B, I somehow convinced myself I wanted to marry the guy and invited him to Hawaii to meet my family. I incessantly gushed to my parents about how great he was and how much I loved him. (uuugghghhh this makes me want to puke now) Then, he shows up in Hawaii, and, in the harsh light of my own reality: my family, the island where I grew up, my friends, my language, I saw B for what he really was: a completely wrong for me, stinky, dirty, and dull French guy who I could barely communicate with. I had to break his heart in a drawn out, pathetic, and hugely uncomfortable drama that continues to nauseate me to this day. The man had brought a diamond ring with him which he gifted me in front of the entire family christmas morning. Yeah. Messy. I no longer trust my own eyes, heart, or brain.

The B incident proves that I'm insane. So now, with christmas visible on the horizon and TMI and I discussing love, the prospect of him visiting me in the Pacific has surfaced and filled me with subsequent terror. I want to be in love, but I don't want a repeat!