Wack a Mole

Ladies night last night for the lesser part revolved around talk between two moms of boys and two moms of girls, and the laughter that ensued once the daughter mommies found out how focused the boys are on their family jewels. Such a mystery to them how the toddler boys already have multiple pets names for their private parts while the girls under five are still pretty much oblivious. Wow. I know how that feels. As I've mentioned before, I was gone from home and living on my own in NYC before I realized people drank to get drunk... it took me another five years to figure out that as women, we can basically have sex with anyone at almost anytime. I say almost, because there are exceptions, but basically, if the circumstances are right (barring some sort of physical mutilation or severe body odor), almost any man will have sex with almost any woman willing to have it with him. (And I am unique in figuring this out so late in life... I would say there is a huge majority of woman who figure this out when they are say, 14.)

So, once I figured this out, I would often laugh with my girlfriends about getting Russell Crow to have sex with me. About how it might take some financial investment, but eventually, I would prevail. And all this is funny because... I am getting ready to turn 37 in a few months. I have a son who is on the brink of life and filled with questions and newness and love for everything. I have a husband who works eight hours a day so that the boy and I can go on vacation to NYC, spend mornings at the library, drink organic chocolate milk and basically live a life of leisure (that is if you care to call raising a three-year-old a leisurely pursuit.) I am trying to build a creative life for myself between potty breaks and nap times... I didn't do it earlier as I was too busy supporting myself and climbing the publishing ladder and now I am starting to fear that my time will run out again and I'll be back at GO... having to start working doing something that is less than what I really wanna do.

And my years of being able to have sex with anyone I want are waning. I am getting old and haggard, and though I know as a woman I should fight it... really, what's the point? My husband thinks I'm sexy despite the body odor and thrown-on pigtails. I see the women fighting it and you just look at them and think, "Wow, they are really fighting it." There are the rare exceptions with good genes who stay naturally hot 'til the end (ie Helen Mirren) and the ones who try and fight it too soon and end up looking like something out of a horror film (ie Meg Ryan). I see it in my hood... all the time, and I wonder... I wonder why women put so much importance on their looks when men are more than willing just to let it all go... either that or they just get hotter and hotter the older they get... I will happily put my husband up as evidence. The cuter my husband becomes the uglier I get... like I am his Dorian Gray portrait sucking away every line and wrinkle and ounce of cellulite. Having a young son makes my husband more vibrant and alive than I have ever seen him, while having a child for me has given me sleep deprivation, varicose veins, urinary incontinence and a tummy.

So yea, we, as woman, start out having no interest in our body parts and end up dying to have someone want to see us naked. While men start out horny and then eventually are the first ones to loose interest in sex entirely.... women cling on 'til the end needing the intimacy and validation that sex provides while men just want to relax and have some peace. (I am wildly generalizing here, so stay with me.) The point is, dang... sex is an extremely human trait. Like going to the bathroom or dying. It is one of those mortality barometers... reminding us that we are alive and have nerves and feelings and aren't quite dead yet. I know sex isn't everything, but man, I feel bad for the people who don't have it in their lives. If not all the time, then just occasionally and enough.

Whew. TGIF people.