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By Jennifer Witt, August 22, 2011 6:00 am

Time magazine recently published two articles discussing new studies regarding sexual satisfaction, marriage and infidelity. While Time played up the “groundbreaking” nature of the results, I was not surprised. Shortly after my wedding, I came to the conclusion that sex is probably the most important aspect of marriage.

That revelation wasn’t the result of any sexual dysfunction in my relationship, but simply the result of adjusting to being married and to the expectations we all subconsciously harbor about marital bliss and the reality of being committed to someone ’til death do us part.

When I woke up one day to find the new marriage smell worn off, I emerged from the newlywed cocoon so many of us get wrapped up in during the early days of forever. I found my way back to hobbies my husband doesn’t have an interest in and to the uncoupled friends I unintentionally overlooked, because inviting them out always seemed like making them the third wheel. I watched chick flicks by myself and ran errands without him. I started shopping with my mom again.

I wasn’t sad or mad or glad. I just rediscovered the fact that there is a world outside our coupledom that is fun and fulfilling. My emotional and intellectual needs could be met without him being the source of all my contentment.

But after all my girls’ nights out and mother-daughter adventures, I still had one need that could only be met at home, within my marriage: S-E-X.

Hitting me rather abruptly, I realized that out of all the relationship needs, sex is the only one that cannot be met by anyone else other than your spouse. At least not in a socially acceptable context, unless you are polyamorous (which is arguably not socially acceptable, but that’s beside the point).

Continue reading 'Sex Is The Most Important Part Of A Marriage'»

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By Jennifer Hamilton, August 15, 2011 6:00 am

Image by viZZual via Flickr

I am a very effusive person. For instance, I love sushi. I love my rare lazy afternoons when I get to read a book on the couch. I love Harry Potter (the books, not the movies). I love our barber in the small Italian town where we live. I love my dogs. I love my friends. I love my parents. And I proudly and unabashedly state how much I love these things and people.

Yet I remember a time, when I had first started dating my husband, that “I love you” was the last thing I wanted to say….

Well, let me restate that. I desperately wanted  to say “I love you.” But I didn’t want to undermine the first time I said it to him by blurting it out just after I waxed prosaic over the dumplings at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I remember catching my tongue–ironically a mere week before we actually told each other “I love you”–when he said something funny while we were out with a group of friends.

At that precise moment, I loved him. I wanted to tell him, but I stopped my natural impulse. I had the usual reasons for holding back:

“I don’t want to scare him away.”

“I don’t want to seem desperate.”

“He should be the one to say it first.”

“I don’t want to say it for the first time in front of other people.”

I’m glad I waited. Because when we did finally say it, it was magical.

Continue reading 'When Saying “I Love You” Matters Most'»

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By Lady Bee, June 13, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Dan Grebb via Flickr

Imagine the scene….

A balmy February evening with a luxurious yacht skimming along the water. On board are couples in love. To surprise Jane, John has two tickets for this Valentine’s Day moonlit cruise around the harbor.

On the drive to the dock, John remains tight lipped, frustrating Jane. She anxiously clutches the bouquet of her favorite flowers, wondering what he has planned for her, but knowing that whatever it is, she will like it. He just knows her so well.

They board the yacht with the other happy pairs and then settle together hand-in-hand at the railing, leaning out to the waves as they disappear from view in the boat’s wake. The lights of the city sparkle in the distance, and the sea air blows a gentle caress across Jane’s face and through her hair.

John takes Jane’s hand and leads her to the centre of the deck. Then, he gets down on one knee in front of all the passengers, pulls out The Box with The Ring inside and says, “Jane, I love you, will you marry me?”

With a squeal, she cries, “Yes!”

He rises, slips the ring onto her finger, and immediately, she wraps her arms around him and covers him in kisses. A round of spontaneous applause breaks out on the yacht, and the other couples cheer and whistle. She basks in the good wishes and attention of her fellow travelers–the adoration, the love, the romance.

It could not have been more spectacular if she had planned it herself. It was perfect….

Oh, please! Give me a break from such sappy romance!

I can see you rolling your eyes now. It sounds like the absolute worst movie cliché from some cheap popcorn Romcom or a film about a Season in a Famous City that will remain nameless. But incredibly, it’s not. My cousin was proposed to in this exact manner. She really couldn’t have been happier, and for the record, she has been married for three years.

Continue reading 'No Romance For Me, Please'»

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By Miss Bonnified, March 28, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Chris Craymer

Clyde and I are getting married. This means I’ve suddenly turned into a wedding planner. In case you’ve never gone through this process before, allow me to say that it’s a special kind of pain.

Fellas, be prepared to see a whole ‘nother side of the woman you love enough to hand over a small mountain of cash in return for a sparkly rock.

Ladies, be prepared to come over to the dark side.

By “dark side,” I mean the peculiar kind of pain wedding planning inflicts. There’s so much that goes into planning something as intricate as a wedding, but the weirdest part is… I like the pain. This also makes me wonder if I’m secretly into S&M, but am just in denial.

The whole process starts taking on a life of its own. It very quickly consumes your every waking thought and moment. You become obsessed with things you never once gave a rat’s ass about. Things like table linens, chair covers, different kinds of freaking cakes and their design.

Do you know the difference between thermography and letter press typography? I do now!

Don’t even get me started with flowers and flower arrangement. Who knew there were so many different kinds of flowers??!!! And why do they cost so much?! [Throws a fit.]

So here’s the best piece of wedding advice Clyde got from his coworker and shared with me.

There will be no talking about wedding stuff after 10 PM.

Period. End of story.

At first, I was like, “WHY?! *ROAR!

There’s so much stuff to do!! Why can’t we… oh. I get it.” Continue reading 'How To Save Your Relationship While Planning A Wedding'»

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By Jennifer Witt, February 7, 2011 6:00 am

Image by Gael Conrad via Corbis.com

My husband is sleeping with his secretary.

Not only do I not care, I actually encourage it.

No, we’re not swingers, or in a dysfunctional marriage. We work together… and I’m his secretary!

The first question I’m asked when people find out that my husband and I own a business together–and that I technically work for him–is, “How do you do it?

The answer I give is the expected mix of joke and half-truth: “Not easily!”

We started working together by accident. My involvement at the outset was more or less that of a doting girlfriend with lots of spare time. We fought frequently in the first couple months, actually, because he seemed to be working all of the time. One night, during an argument, he told me, “I don’t even start working until after 5:00 because I’m in the office all day!” To which I snapped back, “You barely have any work in there in the first place! How in the world do you have so much office work to do?”

Three months after he started the business, I had taken a few days off due to minor surgery and decided to go in to work with him just to get out of the house. One day in his office was all I needed to see that he did have enough work to require help.

Due to my flexible work schedule, I kept helping out in his office when I could. After a couple months of that, I could barely keep up with both jobs, and things weren’t going well at my “real job.” We discussed it and thought it would be worth a try having me come on full-time. That was May 2008. He proposed in June, we were married in August, and I’m still working full-time in the office. The business continued to grow exponentially, and we now employ four full-time guys in addition to ourselves.

So, how do we do it?  To be completely honest, I’m not 100% sure. We’ve had times where I thought it would be the end of our marriage. The issues that play out in any typical marriage are present both at work and at home, and are only amplified by the stress of running the business and managing employees. Staying on the same page is hard. Defining roles is even harder. Despite our early success handling the business as co-owners, over the longer term, that was not working out. Continue reading 'Working For Your Husband Is Tricky Business'»

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By Rebecca Sullins, December 13, 2010 6:00 am

Image by Bill Lapp via Flickr

My mother was right. About everything. And if you ever tell her I said that, I may have to kill you.

I wasn’t always the upstanding, hard-working, settled-down, home-owning, pinnacle of the American dream that I am today. And yet, that’s exactly what my mother predicted, even as I was sneaking out all night, smoking, throwing parties, and piercing body parts that aren’t easily visible in everyday clothing.

My rebellion started after my mom sent my brother to live with our dad and forced him to relinquish his troublemaker badge of honor. I picked it up, dusted it off, and gave it the best run ever. I was rebelling against everything I found to be mainstream: office jobs, pearls, kids, marriage, and any other kind of socially-accepted lifestyle. Worst of all, I’m pretty sure I permanently corrupted my younger brother.

My mother has one small tattoo on her hip. I went levels beyond. Today, everyone can see my rebellion plastered right there on my forearm. And my back. And my hips. And my thigh. Never did I contemplate how looking like I belonged on the back of a motorcycle would affect job prospects, social interaction, or even the person I ended up marrying.

I stopped caring about school. Not to the point of complete and utter failure, but just enough so that the assistant principal was on a first-name basis with Mom. I still had plans to attend college, but never once thought beyond the typical in-state arts college.

Children were out of the picture. Marriage, a dream that belonged on afternoon sitcoms or bridal magazines.

I was living my life as though the story that had no ending. No regrets, no consequences, and no clue.  Continue reading 'I’ve Become My Own Worst Nightmare'»

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By Jasmine Curry, November 22, 2010 6:00 am

"Please, oh please, let me out of this box!"

I admit it. I have a lot of boxes. A box for friends, and a box for enemies. A box for frenemies, one for family, another for lovers. I even have a box for barely tolerable coworkers. I put the people I trust into one box, and the people I’d like to throw out the window into another box.

And once someone is read, stamped, classified and packed away into a box, it’s almost impossible for them to get out of it.

Take my friend, Greg. We worked together and hung out all the time. And early in our friendship, he dated a friend of mine. He was also younger than me, and our politics did not match up. So, he was in the Friend Box.

A few months later, as we were hanging out and having a great time, he implied that we should date. I informed him that he was off limits since he once dated a friend of mine. This was only partially true. The real truth was that he was in the Friend Box, and I wasn’t going to let him out.

Greg and I may have been incredibly compatible. Or we may have completely ruined a perfectly good friendship if we dated. We’ll never know. Once in the Friend Box, always in the Friend Box.

I was so good at pigeonholing men into “datable” and “not datable.” But, aren’t we all? Doesn’t everyone have some way of categorizing the opposite sex?

My system was working just fine. Until one day I discovered it wasn’t. Continue reading 'I Put Men In Boxes'»

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By Jennifer Hamilton, November 15, 2010 6:00 am

Image by Josep Ma. Rosell via Flickr

I had an interesting encounter with a married friend the other night. My husband, our two-year-old son and I went to dinner at “Jack,” “Jill” and “little Johnny’s” house. They’re friends of ours, and we were looking forward to catching up with them after not seeing them for several months.

I should mention now that Jack and Jill have a one-bedroom apartment, so all six of us were essentially in one room the entire night. You’ll soon find out why this is important.

We were having a great time, and the wine was definitely being enjoyed (more so by the men than by the women and kids).

Out of the blue, Jack gave me a look. You know, The Look. I turned around, hoping that Jill was behind me, and The Look was directed at her. She wasn’t, and it was not. When I turned back, Jack was still giving me The Look.

I brushed it off. Really, we’re all married here, right?

Then, he gave me a hug. Or, in the same vein, perhaps I should say, The Hug. Was that his hand sliding down my back and hovering on that no-man’s-land area below the small of my back, just above my butt?

I discreetly moved away, trying to assure myself that I was just imagining things. Perhaps Jack’s hand had slipped. But then, how many times has a guy’s hand “accidentally” slipped when touching a woman? (Don’t answer that, guys.)

I sat on the couch, next to Jill, and started playing with the kids. This had to be a safe zone. But no. Soon, Jack was also on the couch, in between Jill and me. And I found that my feet and legs were ever-so-gently being caressed. My discomfort was now official. Continue reading 'Is Honesty Really The Best Policy?'»

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By Jasmine Curry, October 25, 2010 6:00 am

She's got a huge red flag. Why are you ignoring it?

I just went to a friend’s wedding. Instead of jumping for joy that someone else was joining the club, though, my husband and I found ourselves thinking, “oh, no. They have no idea what they are in for.”

I shouldn’t be such a pessimist. This particular couple is incredibly compatible. But, there have been a string of divorces in my circle recently, and I think it comes down to one issue:

Ignoring the red flags.

All three of the girls I know whose marriages are ending have said the same thing: “I always felt like I was having sex with my brother.”

Ouch! If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is. So, why did they all ignore the flag and get married, anyway?

Perhaps it’s the need for stability. For some reason, we as a society think that if we are married, life can begin (those who think that life ends when you get married notwithstanding). Most agree that getting married means we won’t be alone ever again. And I mean ever. Like, if we need just one moment to ourselves, we are probably not going to get it. Ever.

But, we think we need to be with someone. And so, we get married… even though we know that we really want children, while he has made it clear that having kids is off the table.

Perhaps we ignore the red flag because we are getting older and thinking, “well, we want the same things, have the same goals, and it’s high time I get married before my window of opportunity closes.” So, we rush to have the wedding and start having children… only to discover that our atheism doesn’t fit with his desire to raise our children in a church.

Or maybe some of us just aren’t any good at being single. So, we look the other way at what we think isn’t that important. We tell ourselves that relationships are all about compromise.

The problem is, the red flags don’t go away. And if we don’t stand for what is truly important to us (and perhaps we didn’t even know just how important it was at the time), we lose not only ourselves in the marriage, but potentially the marriage, itself. Continue reading 'The Curse Of The Red Flag'»

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By Katie M., October 18, 2010 6:00 am

Katie and Kevin

Yes, folks, here she is. The inspiration for countless posts, the coiner of the term Sneak-a-Date, and clearly the person with the smallest ego on this blog. The one, the only, Katie!

Except, I guess technically with Dennis, there were two Katies. Anyway. I was the first, and I think that should count for something.

Now, I realize that all of you are probably salivating for some salacious gossip from the gal who’s seen Dennis without his shirt or the rest of his clothes. But, I’m saving that for a future post (see how I cleverly lure you into reading me again?) and instead starting with the end–with the part where I find my perfect match, fall madly in love, and walk down the aisle in a charming white dress.

It’s a really boring story.

No seriously, it is. From the standard first-date pasta dinner at an oh-so-moderately priced restaurant, to the follow-up phone call precisely three days later, the whole thing was fraught with a by-the-book dating tranquility that you’d expect to find only in, well, books.

Although, before you get the wrong impression, I should mention that, for our honeymoon, we ran with the bulls in Pamplona. We are not always dull. Nor are we always wise….

Anyway, before all of this serenity hit, I admit my dating life was not what you would call, in a technical sense, sane. It was full of questionable hook-ups, midnight rendezvous, and tangled on-again, off-again relationships overlapping so frequently that even I occasionally lost track of whom I was dating that week.

The stable relationships had their turmoil, too. When I was in them, I found myself asking a never-ending series of questions: Is this the right person for me? Should we move in together? Get married? Get a goldfish? I used to think that this kind of commotion was just part of being with someone. After all, people always said good relationships were hard work. Continue reading 'The Ex-Girlfriend Speaks Up'»