Same-Sex Marriage?

Rather, is all marriage same-sex marriage?

I read an interesting article in Salon yesterday regarding keeping the sex drive alive in marriage. (You can read it if you're not a subscriber; I think you just have to look at an ad.) Turns out it's not always so easy, what with the mortgage payments and the birthday parties and the desire to keep one's house in some semblance of order. The kids get the new, fashionable clothes, because money's tight, and Momma can't afford BOTH school clothes for the kids and those so-ugly-they're-cute Keen Mary Jane shoes for her. (Or the red Elle Monza's. But I digress.)

So, the author of this book thinks that marriages in America are very purposeful creations. We marry to establish a family that is stable and loving, but do we usually also commit to the effort needed to establish a lifelong, hot sex life?

Y'see, a hot sex life usually involves mystery. An attempt at seduction. A frisson, if you will. Is it a purely American constraint that we don't keep that effort up after the days begin to be sucked up by lunchboxes, homework folders, and 10 pages in the library book before the Ambien kicks in?

Not to brag, but I have it pretty good. The Man is....well, let's face it, a huge sex pig. He makes me feel pretty, and understands that I sometimes need to dress up in something sexy and go out with my girlfriends to lightheartedly flirt with guys. And don't think he doesn't get some when someone else has been paying attention to me. It's not that I think that person WANTS me, but when another, attractive person talks to you, I do distinctly feel sexier. (It also helps that, in those circumstances, I am not wearing my ratty Target sweat shorts and a stretched-out tank top. That's always a help, too.) The Man's lack of jealousy makes me feel even more secure, if that's believable...he would sooner believe that I had miraculously become a size 6 than he would believe that I'd go off with some guy.

We also engineer time to ourselves and away from the darlings, but even with the children around, we make a lot of time for our friends. We play poker, we cook dinners, we go to movies, there are two distinct Boy's Night Out and Girl's Night Out groups, that sort of thing. Our kids play together, we take other friends' kids when they need to go out, they reciprocate, etc.

It's not rocket science, but her point was well made, I thought. Find a happy life for yourself, put on some sexy clothes (maybe the child will have to wear those shoes that are a half-size too small for one more month; that's OK, they honestly don't care), buy those brown Birkenstock mary janes that you have been wanting and would kick ASS with the new Eddie Bauer cords.
Then, put 'em on, do the smokey eyes and the can't-wear-to-work lipstick, flirt with your husband on your way out the door, make him notice how sexy your ass is, and then go out drinking wine with the girlies. Make no bones about the fact that you MIGHT HAVE CONVERSATIONS WITH MEN. And that it is OK. Come home that night, tipsy and laughing, and then JUMP YOUR HUSBAND'S BONES.

Rinse, repeat. Except that this time he gets to go out with the guys, and eschews the can't-wear-to-work lipstick. They drink beer, shoot the shit, talk about sports, beer, and women's body parts (I'm just guessing here; perhaps cars are mentioned as well?) My man, I know, will ask women (aka "floozies, in my parlance) to dance, if I, his regular dance partner, am not there. (And I will tell you something about floozies...a nice-lookin' young man who has his own teeth and that will ask you to dance is quite a catch. I almost had to drive myself down to Ginny's Little Longhorn after The Man came home one night with a story about how he had danced with a girl who was verbally stating to him that she didn't care about that ol' wedding ring on his finger, nor the frequent references he kept making to "my WIFE...my PREGNANT WIFE!!" God, he was cute when he told that story! And I jumped him.)

In the end, he gets a nice evening away from putting the kids to bed....you get a nice evening with your Target shorts and "Project Runway" - seriously, folks, this is a win-win situation. He comes home all tipsy and lovey, and is so happy that you let him go out that he does All. The. Dishes. Without. Being. Told. Sweet. And now you're double happy. Does he get some then? Probably!

So, Mags' advice for a flourishing sex life is to have a life separate from your kids and husband. Do something you are passionate about...politics, art,movies, sports, whatever. Forgo some of the drudgery for a sexy date out together whenever possible. (And you should both dress up so that the other person will find you most attractive.) Allow both you and your spouse to go out, to look attractive, and to talk and laugh with others that may be of the opposite gender.

Also, go out on dates with your friends. They're great for detox purposes, and yet, without exception, at the end of them, I'm so totally ready to come home to the person that I like best.

Anyway, I'll be off on my Hill Country Venture from Friday through Saturday. Day off Friday, hosannah, heysanna, zanna zannna ho!

(Oh, speaking of prayers, good thoughts, or what ever your shriveled little agnostic hearts can broadcast, give some out to Karla May. She's home from the hospital ordeal from hell, and she's attached to tubage. But, her blog is as funny as ever, so I assume she's doing better. Snaps to the KM!) And, for those of you who know Alamo Daniel, he had an accident on Cesar Chavez in which his truck flipped over THREE TIMES, and he was ejected out the window onto the road because his seatbelt malfunctioned. Can you believe that? He's just got a few scrapes. Amazing.

Have a good couple of days, you guys! (My Missouri friends are visiting, so I'm going to talk Missourian with them. So fuck all y'all.)