The Single-Married Spectrum

Helloooo to you Internet friends!

It has been so long. Like, the kind of long that I would be tempted to refer to as, I don't know, maybe a "dog's age..." if I were inclined to employ such cliches. Which I am, and so I did. It's been so long since I typed at you that you have probably watched two or three entire Oscar baiting epic dramas in the time since you last visited this here enclave on the Internet.

Honestly, very little has changed, in the grand scheme of things. But whatever. Let's cut to the ol' quick here. You know, get down to business- brass tacks, the nitty gritty. Let us mince not a single more word, in favor of addressing the matter at hand...

That topic being-

A fave rave matter of mine: the semantics of romance. The language of the heart, if you will. More specifically, what constitutes a "single" person as opposed to a not single person. Like literally EVERY other topic that this here Blogspot has ever attempted to tackle, this is a hugely complicated matter, since nothing in this world (besides maybe binary code) is actually a binary if you think about it really.

And obviously, everyone knows this. Hell, even social networking sites have long since picked up on the fact that things are often "complicated" when it comes to defining oneself in terms of where one exists on the Single-Married Spectrum. But what we strive to do on the blog formerly and currently known as Sex With Me is Rad is to create functional definitions of things, in the hope that, using said definitions as a guideline, we can craft solutions to the thornier issues that insistently pick away at our hearts and minds like so many earnest ukulele players at the local upcycled craft swap.

So, without further ado, the ten points on the Single- Married Spectrum (heretofore to be referred to as the "SMS"). Just imagine that each description of the individual points is your answer to the question: "What do you generally do at the end of a typical Saturday night?"

1: I spend my night watering my twin pet ferns, Steve and Charles, with my hot bitter tears.

2: I throw back three or four nightcaps and masturbate desperately to whatever pornographic thought/image/snippet of erotic fiction is most free and convenient. Or, I simply fall asleep to the rhythmic throb of my lonely blood beating in my ears.

3: I throw back a nightcap (or two) and masturbate desperately to some hackneyed sexual fantasy about one of the bussers at the Olive Garden, and/or I replay in my mind, from every possible angle, this sideways glance (smirk?) he/she cast me while cradling a pile of pesto stained dinner plates h/she was rushing back to the kitchen.    

4: I make myself a Hot Pocket and send a semi-coherent text message to someone I have gone on one to three dates with and/or had sex with two to three times. If they reply at all, it will be the following morning, and will likely be something along the lines of "yeah" or "LOL."

5: I make myself a nice plate of nachos and then peruse the "Little Black Book" section of my contacts list, and then send a completely coherent proposition to one of the several eligible parties, who then responds, accepting said proposition with pleasure. I finish my nachos and then proceed to have satisfying, if not emotionally gratifying, sex with the eligible party.    

6: I come home, with someone I have gone on one to five dates with, and we have somewhat satisfying, possibly emotionally gratifying sex that culminates in confusion, and possibly a conversation to the effect of "So, um. What the fuck are we doing, anyway?"   

7: I come home, with someone I have gone on more than five dates with, and we have somewhat satisfying, possibly emotionally gratifying, sex that triggers feelings of moderate to severe confusion/insecurity, a conversation to the effect of "So, um. What the fuck are we doing, anyway?" and the eventual conclusion that you actually really like each other and want to be "exclusive" from here on out.

8: I come home, with the person I have determined to be my significant other, after a nice dinner and a motion picture that we both found to be agreeable. Depending on the mood, we may or may not kiss/have sex/look each other in the eye.

9: I come home, with my significant other, after a nice dinner and a motion picture that we both found to be agreeable. One of us has a ring on her finger that wasn't there back when we both rated an "8" on the SMS.  

10: I creep softly into my childrens' room, and after smiling gently at them in their angelic slumber, crawl into bed with the only partner I have ever known- where our bodies and souls fit together like a comfortably padded ass in a well worn leather couch.           

Note that I tried to account for both of the primary motivations for human coupling- love and lust. Around the "6" mark, you start to see that the two motivators are beginning to become entangled somewhat. Unless you happen to have very specific moral convictions (religious or otherwise), about sex, chances are, if you aren't actually sleeping with anybody, you don't rate higher than a "4" on the SMS.

Obviously, there are thousands of variations on this basic theme that represent decimal points in the spectrum, but this should give you a decent idea of where you stand. I'll be (hopefully) using this blog entry as a reference point when I refer to issues of monogamy and how it relates to other facets of one's romantic life. So, make sure you bookmark this one for future reference.

And I can assure you, oh nester in the warm confines of the cozy little internet bubble that is Sex With Me is Rad, there will be a future for us. With hoverboards and flying cars and robot maids. The whole nine yards, I tells ya. Just you wait.

Short and Sweet. Just like yr Valentine.

Solving the “St. Valentine’s Day Problem.”

Well, hello there, Sexsters! As you may have noticed, it’s St. Valentine’s Day, that extra special day of the year where we celebrate “Love.” And, since this blog just so happens to be dedicated to the “Art of Love,” I feel that I would be so remiss in NOT posting a new blog entry on this holy of unholiest days that I would probably have to fire myself. In fact, if I didn’t post something new on Valentine’s Day, I fear that Bloghands, the almighty Arch-Daeva of the blogosphere, would probably reduce me to a fine ash right here in my computer chair. And nobody wants that, except maybe for Bloghands, who I’m told can be a rather vindictive and sadistic Arch-Daeva indeed.   

Anyway, the most obvious question to ask about St. Valentine’s Day (hereby to be referred to as “SVD,” so as to make it sound as much like something you contract after group sex with a hair metal band as possible) is- “What should I do on SVD if I’m in a relationship?” The second most obvious question is “What should I do on SVD if I’m single?”

And, of course, the simple answer to these questions is “something nice with your loved one” and “mope,” respectively.  Duh.

So, today’s lesson is simple, straight to the point. Brutal, even, in its simplicity.

But wait. There are alternatives. And, better still, these alternatives are not mutually exclusive with the aforementioned options!

I say, we need to galvanize SVD as one of those wonderful “cheap excuse to drink in excess” holidays.

Yeah. Just like St. Patrick’s Day and New Year’s Eve and Cinco De Mayo.

I mean, it’s practically already there. All we need to do is come out and say it!

February 14^th is no longer a day reserved for flowers and candy and the all consuming feeling that, even if you aren’t necessarily “alone,” per se, you’re more or less bound to die that way.

So, belly up to the bar, with or without your sweetheart, and raise a glass with SEX WITH ME IS RAD- the Love Blog that wants you to want it, Needs you to need it. LOVES you to LOVE it. And all that Jazz.  

   

WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING (LOVE)

Oh hello there, and welcome to another little installment of SEX WITH ME IS RAD- the love advice blog that doesn’t advise about love so much as it rants, raves and circumlocutes in regards to things that have to do with relationships in general. Because, honestly- advice is for the kind of suckers who go through life thinking it’s like, gonna make sense  or something. Pffft.

We dear friends, are a different breed of suckers. We are the kind of sucker who knows that, for better or worse , life is little more than  a series of events with a loosely causal relationship to one another. And  that these events are rarely all good or all bad, though we are often tempted to categorize them as one or the other. And this inclination to wonder “what do all of these loosely causally related events like, mean???” is the reason we’re all here right now a-frettin’ and a-worryin’ about our various stuff and things.

And what, you might ask, are these “stuffs” and “things” that we’re worrying about, as we sit here, on our respective computering devices, in our respective coffee-shops, bedrooms, public libraries and wi-fi enabled brothels? 

Well, let me tell you. The “thing” of the day is “EXPECTATION.”

And yes, this is a little abstract, I know. And that’s actually part of the point. Today, we’ll be discussing “expectation” vis a vis romantic relationships (mostly). And we’ll be doing this because expectation is one of the biggest, if not THE biggest stumbling blocks that stands between you, oh undeniably but (yet unassumingly) sexy reader, and finding the closest thing to TRU LUV™ in this silly little plane of reality that we all occasionally blow our noses on.

So- what exactly should one expect from a love relationship? And, perhaps more importantly- what SHOULDN’T one expect?

Well, at the risk of sounding like someone who defines things negatively, I’m going to fixate a bit today on what one SHOULD NOT expect from one’s romantic relationship. And I’m going to lead with a big one here, and I’m going to trust you guys to bear with me…

YOU SHOULD NOT EXPECT A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP TO BE “SATISFYING.” PERIOD.

Yeah. Perish the thought.

“Satisfaction” is little more than one of many undeniably classic, if heinously overplayed, songs that Keith Richards’ heroin addiction happened to channel into being for the benefit of sentimental dads, Record Label executives and bemused Super Bowl audiences everywhere (NB- these three markets are FAR from being mutually exclusive).   

There’s a reason why people make fun of that monologue from Jerry McGuire where he goes on and on about how whatsherface “completing him.” It’s a fanciful, trite sentiment that is completely counterproductive to anything that might possible resemble an actual, functional loving relationship. (Furthermore, inside sources say that it was having to bring this unfortunate swathe of particularly purple screenwriting to life that drove Tom Cruise finally and ineffably into the belly of SCIENTOLOGY. And the last thing I want for any of you lovely people is to see you become Scientologists.)

“Satisfaction,” is, at best, a momentary pleasure. And it’s a privilege, not a right. It’s a side benefit of working at your relationship with someone whose skill set COMPLEMENTS YOURS. And this is something I will absolutely get into the nitty gritty of in a future so near, it won’t even involve flying cars. I promise.

Til’ then- a very merry “ try and stay Zen through the impending cold and dark and loneliness that is the Holiday season” to you from “SEX WITH ME IS RAD: The love blog that tries. Oh it tries. It tries and tries and tries.”   

        

HOW TO OFFICIATE A WEDDING (SORTA)

Hello, Hello, and Hello Again, all of you out there in the land of the internet. As promised, here is the much delayed, much anticipated breakdown of my very first and (possibly) only experience as a MASTER OF CEREMONIES at a wedding!

When I last checked in with you, I was a little on the sweaty side- and granted, while most of this sweat came from various tasks of manual labor that I was completing in the semi-wilderness, coupled with the heat and humidity from the early August air, much of that sweat also came as a result of having to write wedding vows for two people who are decidedly NOT ME.

Well, Summer came and went and the literal sweat has dried, only to be replaced by that weird sweat that is caused by trying to write screenplays and walking around in the cold with one too many layers on. But I’ve said too much. You’re here because you may still be wondering about how the hell my little sister’s wedding went.

And the answer, in both the literal and figurative sense, is…SWIMMINGLY. I knocked out the vows in the final two days before the wedding, and submitted them to the appropriate parties, who largely approved. I think my initial draft was a little on the heavy handed side- I talked a lot about the obligations that come with marriage, which is something I wholeheartedly believe in with a solid 98 percent of my little heart.

However, the conclusion was reached that too much talk of commitment and obligation is, like, somewhat of a boner killer at a nice airy summer wedding. And ultimately, I agreed with that. But the vows and address that I came up with remained largely intact.

And it’s here that I’d like to tell you a bit about how all-fired nervous I was:

I was more nervous than I’ve ever been. When I say I’m somewhat of a performer, I mean just that- I’m somewhat of a performer. Having people’s eyes on me has a tendency to bring out a side of my personality that doesn’t necessarily rear its hammy head in other situations. I get kinda eloquent and adopt this weird gravitas that has led several people to suggest I pursue a career as a minister.

I also get extremely itchy, particularly before and after the actual performance is performed. In practice, I like being onstage. I’m comfortable there. In theory, I hate it like it’s my awkward co-worker who invites himself out to the bar and talks really weird and drinks one too many Cabo Wabos.

This is where I thank my lucky stars for the real official of the wedding, my uncle, who is the kind of guy who is comfortable with everything in such a way that makes looking comfortable look easy.

The first mistake I made was trying to memorize the remarks I’d only completed less than a day beforehand. This added greatly to my sense of self-consciousness, because the more I read the words I’d written, the more they sounded inorganic and overthought. And of course this led to me trying to edit the words I’d written and was trying to memorize as I was trying to memorize them. So, basically, I had eighteen working drafts of my speech bumping around in my head all at once, right up until the time I was standing in front of everybody. So, with everyone sitting there, waiting for the pleasant violin introit to end and my (hopefully) profound, yet still pleasant, benediction-y thing to begin, I had to basically choose exactly which words I was gonna say. And the words came out fine, though I must say I stumbled enough so that rather a few people commented on the fact that “I seemed nervous” after the event. But I held it together, and like I said, good old rookie Justice of the Peace Uncle Sam (yes, his name is Sam) came through with some genius off the cuff asides that, among other things, compared the wedding to that of Prince William and Kate Middleton- quips which were both very timely and deftly satirical of the kind of New England aw-shucks self-importance that seems to be deeply bred into us.

So, all in all, things went well. I also got to play emcee at the reception. This was easier, thanks in no small part to the presence of beer- I just grabbed the mic and tried to speak as loudly and clearly as I could. My toast was much better than my benediction, honestly. I just spoke about how, in a world where one can’t choose one’s family and where one certainly can’t choose one’s in-laws, I felt intensely lucky to have both a little sister and a brother in law who I would absolutely be honored to choose to be my very good friends.

After that, there was a lot of very successful dancing. The dancing was so successful, in fact, that my dad even partook. Everyone seemed to leave with an overall sense that it was a very high quality sort of wedding. My sister maintains, with absolute and unwavering confidence that it was, in fact, “easily the best fucking wedding ever.”

And on the one hand, you might say she’s biased. But on the other, it was her wedding, which means that she’s the only one who really ought to feel that way, so having her feel like she had “the best fucking wedding ever” is the only real litmus for how much of a success the whole party really was.

Whew. So, there you have it. It only took me four plus months to get this out there, but I feel like it was pretty worth it. In the meantime, I am working on some new blog related thoughts that might someday come to you via this here World Wide Internet. Until then, I’m Alexander Merrill, signing off from the land of “Sex with Me Is Rad,” the blog that likes to hit you with its best shot… even if that best shot is sometimes several months in the making!

             

Sometimes, people get married...here's what I tell them to say...

Hello hello, and I believe that a big wet "Welcome back to me!" is in order (from you). What's on my dirty little mind these days, you may ask? Well… tennis, mostly. Tennis and maybe some heartache and some work and...what's that? Oh just a few WEDDING BELLS.
To be fair, they're not literal ones. And they're not mine.

No, no, I fear that I can only hope to end up a slightly less open shirted, perhaps less bouffant sporting, straighter (ish) blogosphere equivalent to mister Stephen Morrissey. Any requests of marriage will likely be humbly deflected- "Thank you, but no. I will live my life, as I/ will undoubtedly die...Aloooone....[on the internet].”

So, anyway- it's my little sister- who happens to be a solid three inches BIGGER than me (that's vertically, not horizontally, ah cha cha!)- who's doing the marryin'.

But get this- Who should be the one to write the vows? OH THAT'S RIGHT- IT IS ME. YOUR OCASSIONALLY HUMBLE NARRATOR. Those vow writing-monopoly having Washington fat cats are shaking in their diamond studded kleenex box booties, to be sure. There's a new vow writing cat in town... and he's been described by sevveral parties as "downright Svelte."

It's a simple ceremony, officiated by my uncle, who also happens to be a lawyer. It's taking place at a private residence- our family's lake house, and the catering is all very simple. So logistically, things have been relatively easy- though my mother and sister and brother in law of the future might say otherwise...they’re the ones doing the literal heavy lifting. My only job is to WRITE THE DAMN WORDS THAT WILL MAKE THE WEDDING HAPPEN.

So how did I do this? Well, for starters, I asked my sister what she wanted me to say. And that helped. The good thing about it is that she has a very down to Earth, realist view of marriage- to her, marriage is a contract, a continuation of a relationship that has been up and running for almost two years now. The trick is synthesizing all of these ideas into something simple, concise, and palatable for a mixed audience. We’re dispensing of almost all of the traditional trappings of a wedding ceremony- something that I think a lot more people do now than ever before. It almost goes without saying that no big “G words” will be dropped at any point during the vows, benediction or [hopefully, barring the appearance of that weird aunt and uncle that I have yet to meet or know of] the reception.

 
Yet, without the capital “G,” and without the big, neon purple declarations of love, or like, Jell-O bungee jumping, what does the humble wedding copywriter have to work with, besides this dry, pragmatic assessment, which (small “g” gawd help us) is the naked truth of the situation?  
 
Well, I’m two drafts in, and the Wedding is Saturday. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, I bid you a fond farewell from the land of SEX WITH ME IS RAD- where it’s [hopefully going to be] a nice day for a white wedding…[come Saturday]”     

Movin' on out.

Finally. More About Getting the Heck Outta Dodge, and How it May Affect Your Relationship.

Alrighty, folks. Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Reports of my extended absence…less so. But never you mind about that. The fact is- SEX WITH ME IS RAD is BACK. And it should be more or less back on schedule.   

When last we spoke, we digressed a bit, talkin’ ‘bout CAUSAL SEX, as opposed to “Casual Sex,” and I must say it was a discussion worth discussing. And it is a discussion that warrants further discussing indeed.

But, we’re back in the realms of the heart, rather than the realms of the crotch, where anything and everything can, and will, happen.

As you may or may not remember, we are back in the company of our two archetypal lovers, who are now dealing with the reality that the land of GRAD SCHOOL beckons- and the land of GRAD SCHOOL is far, far away from the land in which the relationship has existed thus far. It’s a confusing, heartwrenching crossroads for our friends to be at, to be sure.

And what exactly is at this crossroads, besides perhaps the Devil and Bizzy Bone and Robert Johnson and maybe Bobby Frost and a million two bit high school commencement speakers arguing about which road is in fact “less travelled?”

(Hint: it’s usually the one on the left)

At this crossroads, there are mostly a lot of logistical questions. Obviously, first and foremost, the couple will need to figure out exactly how much they like each other and how well they function as a couple-y unit/team-y thing. Ostensibly, a couple that has been together longer and has lived together is far more likely to pick up and move together. The patterns of co-habitation have already been established and will be actually be much harder to break than they will be to simply pick up and move to another location. A couple that isn’t living together will be more likely to split in this situation, unless they happen to be REALLY ready to “take the next step” in their relationship, simply because if both parties move together, then, shit, they’re suddenly LIVING together- if they move separately, that’s twice as much apartment finding, and ultimately, moving, that needs to be done.

The second major set of questions relates to work and to the social environment our potential re-locators will be facing. In this situation, party A, the one going to grad school, is at a distinct advantage over party B. More so than the world of actual work, academia, obviously, is a pretty hermetically sealed environment- it’s a lifestyle. So, Party A, our resident egghead, is moving to his or her new town with a social network, workplace, and possibly even a living situation ready and waiting for him/her. Party B may be moving to this new place empty handed. This disadvantage can be offset if Party B is an innately social, outgoing creature, or if Party B has already found a job and/or has friends in the city the couple is moving to.

If B is a wallflower and a homebody, I strongly recommend against the couple uprooting and moving together. In this case, the two parties will simply become unnecessarily co-dependent and will likely resent each other, unless B is truly content and happy in her solitude, something I believe can only come with age and experience- so younger couples (read: anyone under 30) should be especially wary of this particular caveat.        

And of course, if the relationship as a whole isn’t healthy, or simply isn’t suited for the new environment that the pair is moving to, it’s best to bite the bullet and take steps towards breaking up. Heck, the two parties can use the big move as an excuse to extricate themselves from the whole crappy affair!     

If our couple should choose to BREAK UP, they will become subject to the Long Term Relationship Mourning Process, which I seem to remember describing in detail at some point in the increasing long, dark history of this here blog.

The only major kink that distance throws into the LTRMP is that it, in some way removes, or at least greatly modifies, the second stage of the process, which is THE FIGHT.

If distance is the ONLY reason our couple is calling it quits, then THE FIGHT will be less a “fight” than it is a teary, extended discussion.

But, seriously. What kind of honest to goodness pair of real human animal creatures would have such a simple relationship that they could break up after a significant period of time for only one simple little reason…regardless of how much debt one may incur as a result of that simple little reason?

IT’S A FACT: Breakups are never as “clean” as they ought to be. So, what can our couple expect if they choose to break up in the face of impending theses, long term separation and the heavy handed eroticism of the latest bodice ripping “adult fantasy” series appearing on the television set?

Essentially, what they can expect is a mild, yet protracted, period of second guessing- questions like “did we do the ‘right’ thing?” and “did I just completely waste those X number of years of my life with that jerk?” will likely arise during this period. The only advice I can give here is: try to think of these things during the day, while you are nice and sober and not near a telephone or implement of text messaging.

Trust me on that one.        

So, there we have it. My first set of words in a couple of weeks. I think that, for the time being, I’ll just be doing the blog every Monday, rather than both Monday and Friday, though I’m sure that will all change as well. Next time, we’ll talk about what happens when our happy couple opts to stay together in the face of impending higher education…a risky option if ever there was one, but not one without its merits.

But until that time, I wish you a fond farewell from SEX WITH ME IS RAD “The Love Blog that simply Can’t Live [With Or] Without You.”   

   

  

BLUE MONDAY:CAUSAL SEX

BLUE MONDAY:  CAUSAL SEX.

Hey, all you kids out there in the land of SEX WITH ME IS RAD. What is UP? Like, a lot? A little? A moderate amount? Good to hear.

Anyway, remember last week, when we started talking about how to deal with the prospect of one member of a couple leaving town? Good, because we are totally going to continue talking about that. On Friday, that is. Today, however, is Monday, and I want to try keeping things Blue. This is partially because my mind is currently, as they say, “In the gutter,” and partially because I thought of a really neat phrase to coin, and, if you know me, you know that I FUCKING LOVE coining phrases. It doesn’t even matter if they get used by others. I just like, you know, coming up with names for things…

Manufacturers of future SEX WITH ME IS RAD related talking dolls, I hope you are taking detailed notes. (Bonus points if you are using a Newton… )

At any rate, I am finding more and more that SWMIR is not your typical sexual advisement column, in that, I don’t really find myself fielding direct questions from people so much as I find myself, well, talking to friends and colleagues and identifying patterns in the concerns that they raise with me. If you are interested in fancier talk, you can even refer to these patterns as “motifs” as you will- and I must say I will like it if you will, because I often like to think of things in terms of aesthetics, and calling the patterns that evolve in my friends’ assorted neuroses “motifs” casts me in the role of “emotional aesthetician,” which is way more dignified sounding than plain old “sex talk dude.”

And one thing I’ve been noticing recently is that people are kind of lousy at Casual Sex. It’s not that they can’t do it- it’s more that the practice of so called “Casual Sex” seems to have this way of blowing up in people’s faces.

As is the case with many things, this is all the fault of the damn hippies. Sure, moralists, mostly of the religious sort, have plenty of blame to shoulder in this particular regard, but few people take them seriously in this age of post post post Madonnaness and Snooki Whatsherface-itude and the Trojan Man, and let’s be honest here- the few that do are well beyond the reach of this here blog…for the time being…

(insert ominous laughter here.)

So, yeah, the hippies introduced this idea of “FREE LOVE,” and it got them laid and made them all a ton of money, and now we’re stuck with it. I mean, it started out as “free love,” then it evolved to “casual sex (read “free love plus cocaine),” and now it’s so deeply normalized that it doesn’t even really have a name. It’s like the sexual revolution was televised and now it’s in syndication and on Hulu and in awkwardly truncated segments on YourTube and no one even thinks about it anymore, except maybe the aforementioned religious types and your perhaps even more overzealous guidance counselor who’s doing that thing with the banana that you really don’t want to look at ever.

And, the thing is, we should be thinking about it. Because people seem to still be fucking each other in various fashions, and people definitely still get feelings and diseases and babies and such as a result, so there we have it.

Sex has, will, and will continue to happen.

Hence, the brilliant title of this brilliant installment of this brilliant blog. No, it wasn’t a typo, dude- it was  an… intentional thing! A coinage if you will.

I propose “CAUSAL  SEX” as the new, more responsible, alternative to old fashioned CASUAL SEX.

Havers of CAUSAL SEX embrace their sexuality, while cultivating a less cavalier attitude in regards to the potential repercussions of sexual activity, and also while refraining from being all sanctimonious and doing silly crap like wearing promise rings and putting it in their girlfriends’ bee-hinds because they think that God hasn’t closed that particular loophole already.

CAUSAL SEXERS are aware of these potential “repercussions,” not simply in the medical sense- but also in the emotional sense.

Honestly, in this day and age, “safer” sex (a term which I nominate for “stupidest term ever,” btw), should almost be a given, (note the italics on the word almost) but few people give much thought to the emotional repercussions of sex outside of a lasting, monogamous relationship.

To whit- sex is a great little pastime, but sexual freedom, much like regular freedom according to that bumper sticker I saw on that guy’s truck that one time, “is not free.”

Part of the reason for this is the act of sex is so inextricably connected with the feeling of love. Say what you will about enculturation and practiced morality or whatever- sex and love are linked , deep down in our unconscious minds. There’s a reason why people often refer to sex as “lovemaking…” and it’s not simply part of a carefully orchestrated global conspiracy to make me throw up in my mouth.

It’s because, for a myriad of reasons, over the years, humans developed an emotional response to sex. And this response can be either pleasurable or painful, or both- or first one, then the other. It’s not so crazy of a notion- if you think about it, we have emotional responses to everything we do, be it drunken bathroom fellatio, “courtesy” telephone calls, or miniature golf. IT’S A FACT.

So, those of us who choose to have CAUSAL sex keep these things in mind. In the Future, I shall discuss this principle in less armchair sociological and more armchair concrete terms. Hell, I might even do that next Monday…

But until then, expect more about the problem of LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS on Friday here at SEX WITH ME IS RAD: “The Sex Blog That Sometimes Actually Sorta Gets Around to Talking ‘Bout Sex…Baby”