Tag Archives: sex

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Hey You — What Are You Doing at 8 p.m.?

If you’re home in your PJs watching Netflix with a glass of wine and day-two stir fry like I am, I have a fun idea for you —

Talk about sex.

You know — what you want, what you hate, how you keep it hot, your secret questions, what your guy is really thinking while you’re having sex and so much more. I’ve been working on Sex Week at iVillage for the past few months and the results of our married sex survey are super interesting (for instance: more men report a hotter sex life because they read Fifty Shades of Grey than women).

In honor of a week entirely dedicated to sex (could my job be any cooler?) and our third survey — we’re having a Twitter party tonight at 8 p.m. EST. It’s really easy — just follow iVillage  and me on Twitter and use #sexweek to join in on the conversation. Just by chatting, you could win sexy prizes and gifts.

C’mon, talk about sex with me – I am a host for the party, after all!

(And after you’re finished getting dirty, get mushy and write yourself a letter of love for Valentine’s Day.)

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Without Any Apologies

Sitting across from Dr. Heart at my favorite Thai place near NYU on Saturday night, I caught myself sneaking a smile at him when he wasn’t watching. The restaurant, though not really known for their food but rather for the good cocktails and candlelit ambiance  is perfect for quiet conversation and a hearty, boozy meal. Which is exactly why I picked it for dinner, and because it was right near our next stop: Webster Hall to see Lindsay Sterling.

He caught me looking at him and asked about my intentional studying and if I had drawn any conclusions. I flirted back, telling him I would give my full assessment by the end of the night. This is how our canter is — quick and playful, then serious and deep. It’s really the best kind of start to something that could ultimately be something: half-fun, half-intense. He picked up and kissed my hand, called me gorgeous and went back to his sake. It was the start of a great evening that had followed a great day of sledding in Central Park’s beautiful blizzard and eating pancakes at a cheap diner near my apartment.

We were going to build a snowman until Dr. Heart took a freezing fall into a hidden puddle at the end of a hill, leaving him soaked and very cold and leaving me laughing the whole 10 blocks home. We walked hand-in-hand while admiring the snow and popping a kiss here, racing each other up steps there. I had enjoyed every little, single detail of that day and our meal so far except for one thing.

His hat.

It seems like a petty thing really, especially now as I sit down to write this blog. Though Dr. Heart normally has a good sense of style, for whatever reason, he selected a brown hat to prance around town in — and well, I really didn’t like it. So while I was admiring his devilish good looks (as my grandmother would say), I was also secretly wishing that brown paper-boy looking thing on his head would have stayed at my apartment. And Lucy would have somehow snagged it and you know, do her dog destroying dance.

But no, it was there in our cozy little corner of the restaurant and it was there again, in our cozy seated VIP table at the concert. While we were sipping on Stella and watching the crazy light display below, he let me know he was going to the bathroom to take off the hat because he was hot. I tried not to smile too eagerly, but I’m sure he could detect me grin from the other side of the hall where he was headed. At the end of an amazing set, we started to layer on the half-dozen winter pieces that make New York City bearable in February, and as I reached for my gloves, I noticed that hat hanging out on top of my purse. I offered to hold onto it for him — yes, probably with grim intentions floating in my head — and as he went to retrieve it, I must have frowned.

You don’t like this hat, do you? He asked as a sly smile wrapped up his cheek. Surely blushing from pure guilt, I shook my head and confessed, I kind of hate it. He pulled me closer to him, nibbled on my forehead and laughed, It’s okay, you know, to say how you feel. In fact, I want you to.

There are a lot of things about my experiences with Dr. Heart that are very (very!) different from my relationship with Mr. Possibility, and for me, the biggest one isn’t exactly the doctor himself, but how I at like myself around him. Now, a hat isn’t exactly a deal-breaker (though if you saw it, you may disagree. Ugh), but other things could be for me. And while I really am starting to care about Dr. Heart, I also have no problem being very honest not only about what’s going on in my head, but also about what’s important to me.

In other words, I’m finally speaking for myself in a relationship instead of catering to the every wish,  desire and demand of the man I’m wooing. Instead — I’m letting him woo me, first.

It really doesn’t sound like such a novel concept and really, it’s not. But for me — the girl who wanted to be the dreamiest dream girl that ever walked the streets of Manhattan — letting go of being perfect and being strong enough to show someone what I really think, what I really want and what I really need is a huge step in the right direction.

In the past, I needed to hold onto a guy so closely that I wouldn’t dare test his feelings by spending time apart from him. But with Dr. Heart, when I need a “me” night because I’m stressed from work and aching from pushing myself too far running, I let him know and lets me have my space (and provides a bottle of wine, just for me, to relax). I used to agree with ideas or let behaviors that I knew could turn into bigger annoyances down the road (ahem, not cleaning up after oneself) brush off my shoulder instead of addressing them. And yet, with Dr. Heart — we aren’t afraid to sweetly explain to each other what’s bothering us — even if it’s as simple as, Hey, those boots covered in snow, don’t put those in my doorway. I have always tried to make a guy feel extremely comfortable by making sure everything was just-right: my look, my apartment, my manners — but now, I don’t always fetch water for Dr. Heart (he knows where the Brita lives), I don’t have to wear makeup 24/7 (he does need to know what I look like without it) and if everything isn’t in it’s assigned place in my bedroom, well, then it’s not (it might be cleaner the next time he comes over).

Sometimes, being this at ease and being able to really just let myself be myself and speak for myself makes me feel like I’m not trying that hard. And you know what? I’m not. I’m still sweet and playful. I do little things like leaving surprise notes in pockets and Thinking of you text messages. I still cook dinners and sometimes, come straight home to cuddle in bed. I’m still supportive and understanding, kind to the bottom of my heart and yes, selfish from time to time. I’m not always in the best of moods or always in the mood but I still a girl worth dating.

Because that’s just who I am — and maybe, showing all of those characteristics will lead to a relationship where it’s fine to be… me. Without any apologies, at all.

(And hopefully, without Dr. Heart’s hat, too.)

Only TWO more days left to submit your Valentine!!!! Get to it — you deserve a love letter from yourself :)

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One More Week! Submit Your Valentine

It’s a week until Valentine’s Day (or Single Awareness Day or that day you have a date with Jack, Captain and Jose…) — but instead of making it about love and romance or the lack thereof, make it about all the reasons you love yourself.

That’s right — why you love you! Because you’re pretty great. Actually, you’re awesome.

So write a love letter to yourself by clicking this. Read Valentine’s from the last two years published on Confessions of a Love Addict here. Don’t worry — if you want to be anonymous, you can do that. Or I can link back to your blog.

Make sure to tell all the special ladies in your life to write one, too — don’t you all deserve to get a little more self-love in your lives?

 

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Things I’m Not Afraid Of

I’m not afraid of being alone.

Because loneliness only feels lonely when you give it your power. And though a city can make you have solitary thoughts in the solitary confinement of your tiny hole of the concrete landscape, you’re constantly surrounded by energy. It consumes you while it confuses you, and though you’d rather not break a smile or a sweat, if you walk the streets or catch a train, you’ll find yourself doing both. The city keeps you company, like it or leave it. And being alone isn’t better than surrendering to something you don’t want or becoming someone you’re not because you ache for love. Or maybe it’s just touch that makes you desperate. Learning to stand up single and stand up tall may not be the greatest lesson of all, but it’s one that’ll sustain you. Walking to the beat of the route you decided to take and being proud of who you are — with or without someone — is happier than sitting in the  back seat when you should be driving full speed, windows down, ahead.

I’m not afraid of being wrong.

In fact, I’d rather make mistakes if it means that I will ultimately become a stronger, smarter version of myself. Falling down isn’t the same as giving in — but they are equally important. Before you can fly, you have to be able to land and yes, even crash. It’s only in the aftermath that you can put the puzzle of yourself back together. And sometimes, to recreate the parts and mold them into something that fits again, you have to hang on before you can let go. Sometimes you walk down the path or into the bedroom of something so wrong that it tastes eerily right. And it’s only when it all turns from sweet to bitter that you can feel yourself release it. Before you can figure out what it feels like to be right – to be so right, you can’t believe it – you have to be able to detect when it’s painstakingly, not. You have to admit that you put yourself there, that you’re to blame and it’s you that’ll have to change.

I’m not afraid of having hope.

Sure, seeing things as peachy-keen when life has a knack for serving you lemons may seem irrational and naive. I may be a Pollyanna with a bit of a kinky side who sees the light in all of the emptiness, the good in every bit of sorrow — but I wouldn’t trade that blind optimism for anything. Because you have to believe in something or someone or some entity that you can’t describe and you’ll never be able to define, to get yourself through the muck. There are no amounts of charming tall men in suits, yellow chariots, magical cocktails or hideaways that can disguise the unfortunate things that will happen to us all — but if you keep faith somewhere buried inside of you, you’ll never really care. Because even if everything else fades away or disappears, if everyone you know becomes people you used to know — at the very least, you’ll still see that glimmer that you tucked away for days just like this one.

I’m not afraid of imperfection.

Aren’t flaws rather stunning if you think about it? The most gregarious and gorgeous of individuals aren’t cookie-cutter or Hollywood print-outs. Instead, they’re like you. They’re like me. They’re people who have courage and wear t-shirts that show a little too much skin. They rock teeth with gaps but they do the most with what they have, where they are and however they can. The beauty I see in those around me has almost nothing to do with their style and everything to do with their souls. You can’t see what’s really inside of a person or really know how they’re light was lit until you’ve witnessed what made it flicker in the storm. You can’t look past your own silly shortcomings until you’ve been able to look past someone else’s. And not just see through them, but love those wrinkles, those crooked smiles, that freckled face. That madly beautiful, imperfect face.

I’m not afraid of being last.

Because honestly, I forgot I was racing. To the big, high-powered, executive suite job with the burgeoning paycheck. To the altar where I’d convince myself that this man grants my every wish and will lead my every dying decision. To the mortgage and the 401K, the bonds and the stock markets I’m just now starting to teach myself. To the sweet nursery with the sweet baby that’ll depend on me for everything and I’ll find myself consumed with a love I never knew possible. You can’t rush such luck or such joy — and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. Maybe there’s an ideal time for all of those milestones and maybe it just works itself out. Maybe it doesn’t. But I’d rather be last than to be first and find myself wondering why I moved so quickly when I could have just treasured all the moments before all of my little ducks lined up in their little row.

No, these things, I’m not afraid of. But I used to be.

I needed to be the star — to be the girl who did everything so fast you would miss her if you hesitated for even a second. I wanted to fall in love as soon as I could and marry sooner rather than later. And the thought of being alone was enough to knock me off of my up-on-her-high-horse feet. I gave myself a hard time for having a heart full of hope because surely, if I was too positive, something was damned to go terribly wrong. And if I was wrong, how could I ever find all that I wanted to be right?

I was so fearful of not being the person I had set myself up to be. And if any sign of trouble crept into my picturesque view of how life should be, I would royally freak out. I had a two-year, a five-year, a ten-year plan for everything: this would happen then, that would happen after and all would be well.

But living that way — full of fear that nothing would happen just as I laid it out — was more painful than pleasurable. How can you live in the now if your now is surrounded with anxiety? And so, I decided to stop being pensive. I stopped doubting. I started just savoring. And enjoying.

Because when you stop being afraid of these things… better, not-so-scary, not-so-planned things start to happen instead. And those worries you held onto for so long, they all become things you’re not afraid of anymore. They suddenly just become… things.

Don’t forget to write a love letter for Valentine’s Day to yourself! It’s Love Addict’s 3rd Year of Valentine’s Day From You to You!!

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Falling in Love on Fridays: Loving on a Prayer

This week’s Falling in Love on Fridays comes from one of my very best friends in the whole world (and the world wide web). Nikki started as my bubbly intern at the campus newspaper and quickly grew to become a treasured soul in my life: always reminding me to be positive, always giving me a dose of reality and always remaining one of the most thoughtful, generous people I’ve ever known. Though we haven’t lived in the same place in a long time, we stay connected each day via Gchat (I call her my Gchat BFF!). Her story is one that’s unique and so sweet — just like her. Check out her awesome blog, Mrs. Healthy Ever After for more great insight into her married life. It’s hard not to fall in love with this girl, I promise. (And if you want to submit your own falling in love story, read this!)

Loving on a Prayer

I remember thinking I was in love and when it all changed. I had been in a long relationship with my high school sweetheart who was a couple of years older than me. Everyone thought we were the one’s for each other and we were that “it” couple at church. On the outside, it seemed like I was living the dream. He even wanted to marry me. But when he said I had to marry him by my 19th birthday and on top of his porn addiction that led to me having the worst self esteem ever, I knew enough was enough.

It’s weird thinking how “first loves” or failed relationships truly play into your happy ever after. But they do. And no matter how bad the hurt is from one relationship, there really is hope for that knock-you-off-your-feet love story you’ve always wanted.

I was still dating my porn-addicted ex long distance  when I met Addison. He had been out of school due to back surgery the first semester I started college and all his friends took me under their wing at the place where we both worked. Every chance they got, it seemed like they were saying that I had to meet Addison because we were so much alike. By alike, they meant super-sheltered, goody-two shoes Christian kid, so I didn’t think much of it. Until he  finally walked into the game room I was working in, that is. Someone was making fun of me for being a virgin, as usual, and he just waltzed up and said, “Don’t feel bad. They make fun of me for that too.”

Impressed by a male outspoken virgin, I ran around the desk, gave him a hug and said, “I love you.” Yeah, I know. Not the smoothest of moves, but I was a bubbly freshman who said “I love you” to practically everyone. But that day, a friendship was born.Turns out, Addison had a high school sweetheart who absolutely shattered his heart and he thought he was going to marry her too. It’s a weird commonality, but it was refreshing to have someone to talk with about such a pain that’s hard to express. Eventually I broke up with the wrong guy and Addison continued to be probably one of the best friends I ever had.

One night while we were watching MASH in his room, I turned to look at him during a funny moment and he just planted a kiss on me, completely catching me off guard. It was the most magnificent kiss that has ever happened to me. I asked him what that meant, because it really came out of no where and he said he just wanted to date casually. That was fine with me because I had just gotten out of a longterm relationship and figured it was time to do the “college thing” and date around. But we were inseparable and dating casually didn’t last long. What was really funny was that while I was still dating my ex, I had  prayed to God to send me a man– any man– even if it was a “Joe-Schmo who couldn’t remember my birthday” as long as he wasn’t addicted to porn. Imagine my surprise when my first birthday together, he actually forgot to give me a birthday present. At first I was hurt and mad, but then I just had to laugh. Sometimes God has a sense of humor.

But the real defining moment when I first realized that I loved him and knew he was the one was something that still shocks most of my girlfriends when I tell them this story. I’m not proud of this, but dating a porn addicted really really messed with me on multiple fronts. Early on in our relationship, I took the opportunity to search through Addison’s computer for EVERYTHING. I wasn’t as fast as I thought because when he walked into the room, I just froze. First, it was the expected “What are you doing?” but then to my shock, he replied, “Here are my passwords to emails and Facebook. I have nothing to hide, so if it makes you feel better, go for it.”

I was blown away. After being in a relationship full of lies, and let-downs and entire feelings of inadequacies, I found a guy who was upfront with me about everything. And now, almost five years later, I am married to him and he still says its okay to go through his computer if I ever feel the need to snoop around.

Since then, we’ve been through a lot: long distance, death, failed plans and more. But you know, it always did turn out alright. It just goes to show you that even damaged goods like me, who was overly suspicious of computers after years of hurt, could still find the one who could be what she truly needed all along.

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