I can’t even believe that I just sat down for the first time today. I mean really? I’m exhausted. And I’m drinking wine. Ma nishtana.  Or for all you non-Jews that’s a little Hebrew for “what else is new?” Just in time for Passover. Gettin’ my Jew on. I mean, since I moved to Charlotte five years ago.. I pretty much have a glass of wine every night. Glass. House. Stones. Go. Whatever. I don’t get drunk, or slam a bottle, for fucksake. I have a glass of wine. It’s a little weird to some of you, I’m sure. And to others,  it’s strange that I only have one glass. Ha. Anyways, I’m now in my sweats..curled up with my doggies, and drinking my glass of wine. Ahhhh. Life is good.

Life is good? Shit, after that last blog..I bet you’re thinking how could life get any worse? Life without sex. A sexless marriage, not being wanted by the only man in the world that is supposed to want you, come hell or high water!?  Stab my heart out why dontcha?! Ya, after that last blog.. it seems like anything would be better than that, right? Well, since we are being honest here, it really wasn’t that bad. I loved that guy to bits. He was my best friend. And I loved my family. We were the perfect TEAM. Just not the best partnership. So, the truth is…sexless doesn’t always mean loveless. Remember that, k? You never prepare for the future though, when you’re in it.. so as bad as it gets, it can get worse…

“I don’t care where my SCAR is, Dr. Sherbert. Like I’m ever getting naked for another man again? Unless I’m going to be a stripper in my next life, or Mark’s going to kick-it.. NO guy is ever seeing this body naked. Never. Ever. NEVER. Let’s do this thing. Just make sure I’m hot. And thin. And you wake my ass up. And put my tits where they used to be, UP. I don’t want them huge.. I just want them UP. I look like a cover of a National Geographic, and I have 50 more years to live. I deserve this. Right? Right”.

Ya. That was smart. Good thinking, Jen. I mean, I just really wanted to look good in clothes. So when my plastic surgeon cut me from hip to hip 7 years ago, I didn’t really think twice. I never really imagined another man seeing my body. I’m like Heidi Montag on a good day. I’ve done it all. But no one would ever see it. Not my stomach. Or my breasts. Or my vagina. No guy would ever touch me other than Mark. (Dad, please..stop reading). I just thought I would always be married. And Mark wouldn’t mind that Frankenstein gash across my torso. Or the scars on my boobs. The thought of another man seeing me naked was enough to send me right to the…wait. I know you want me to say the gym. I should say the gym. Or the therapists office. Sure I went to see my shrink. She was SO helpful, she told me to just “get back on the horse”. To find myself, and then to just get back out there.. and get back on it. Not to rush into anything serious, duh. But that I should date. DATE. DATE. There’s that fucking word again. DATE. bleeeeccchhh. I didn’t want to date. I wanted to have sex. Glass. House. Stones. Go. Losers. Don’t judge. If I was a guy, you wouldn’t even think twice about that comment. You blame me? Give me a break. Can’t a girl just have sex with out being in a serious relationship? Such a double standard, but that’s another blog.
So no gym for me, I ate salsa. And did Weight Watchers. And I went directly to the tanning place. Yes, you heard me. SPRAY TAN. Thank you to my sweet friend Ginger, at Glow Charlotte. That woman saved my life. Fucking spray tan covered my scars, and made me look 10lbs thinner I swear to god. Forget the gym, girls. What a waste of time and money. Sugar-based spray tan. My ass looked better, my skin was glowing.. naked never looked so dang good. I might even have to post a pic. NO not of me naked, but of the glow tan. Pre-sex necessity, a glow tan. Even in the dead of winter, ladies. Spray tan your cellulite-ridden asses. I have no shame, and when something works, it works. I will scream it from the rooftops! And not to mention, a little thong line looks sexy as all get out. I even bought an extra Glow-on-the-Go bottle to spray at home. Love that shiz. And love my girl, Ginger. Laugh now, but I can lay naked and feel like Kate Upton. Notice, I didn’t say Brooklyn Decker. I’m not that naive.
I have my tan. And I shaved my legs. Wow. Remember when you actually were married, and could get away with not shaving your legs or vag? OMG. Did she just say that? Yes, I did. Now, I actually have to shave. Not only my legs, when I go out on a date, but just in case there’s a chance I might get laid.. I have to worry about my vagina. (whispering) va-giiiii-naaaaa. My pussy. Do I wax? Or laser. If I do shave it, and I hook up, does that mean that I thought I was gettin’ some? And then the guy thinks I’m a ho? Or do I not shave.. and then he’s like, “Omg, I can’t believe her puss isn’t shaved.. she didn’t think we were gonna hook up, what a nice girl’? UGH!!! You just can’t win. To shave, or not to shave: that is the question! I mean, really? I now have to think about this shit. Ugh.
And what about my thong choice? I once had a guy tell me that any woman who wears animal print panties (I hate the word panties, almost as much as the word moist. And “moist panties” I want to puke) is trying too hard. Yup. That’s what he said. He told me, that if he hooks up with a woman, and she is wearing ANY type of animal print.. cheetah, leopard, giraffe.. dog. Goat. Sheep. Bird. Anything, he leaves. He just gets up, and leaves her laying there. I will call him PETA BOY. Not to be confused with PITA boy. Which is the guy I went out with the other day for lunch, that ate pita bread off my plate, and almost lost a finger. Thank god he was hot, or he would be gone. No one touches my carbs. Ok, so PETA boy.. the dude that hates Animal Print. Ya, leaves women for wearing the print of an animal..
Weird. But makes you think, right? Like what the fuck. Shave, tan.. thong or boy shorts? Polka dots, or Zebra stripes. And what about the kissing. omg. How do you kiss someone after kissing the same man for 13 years? So crazy. But exciting..
Turn them on! Hurry up, I can’t do it. I am having major anxiety. I hate the dark. Dark is for kids. And insecure women. All these mixed emotions. And stemming from what? I want to make sure I know what I’m doing. And that he is who he says he is. Can I trust him? I wanted to cry. And it felt so weird. But nice, too. Like that first guy you kissed in 8th grade. Scott Ephraim. He had braces. And I had braces. And he was so dang cute. And I will never forget it. And I felt guilty. Like I was doing something wrong.. but it felt well, right. And my heart was all funky. And I wanted to tell the whole world all about him. So, I ran home..and told my Mom. And my Sister. And my closest friend. Which is exactly what I did this time. Funny, huh? Kinda like the same thing, minus the braces. Life is funny that way.
And so we kissed.. and kissed. And kissed.
And at forty-one, and separated.. I am more confident. And mature-ish. I like having control. I know what I’m doing. And what I want. I feel better about myself. And about who I am. And I like the lights on, even with my scars.. and cellulite. Who cares if I’m wearing animal print, or grandma panties. Ok, I care. No grandma panties. But you get my point. I can do this. Even though I am scared, and I don’t have a 20-year old body. I am not thin, or cellulite-free. I may not be young, and all that. But I have one thing going for me. Experience. And I don’t mean I’ve slept with the entire planet. Careful, all y’all. What I mean is at 40-something we all have LIFE experiences that make us stronger, and more self aware. And sexier. I feel sexy at forty-one. Fuck, I feel better about this Jennifer, than the one walking around 10 years ago.
I am so going to need to write a Part Three, and I am about to pour another glass of wine. And all this talking about kissing, and getting my sexy-back just reminded me it’s time for a spray tan. Oh, and a new pair of snakeskin panties. Holla.
xo j