The Pizza Spreadsheet: A South Jersey Love Story

Essay by Carolyn Busa
Data by Benjamin Garvey
Pizza by South Jersey

Disclaimer: This is an essay about pizza baked into an essay actually about love. That’s my way of saying the word ‘pizza’ will not appear until paragraph 13. If you’d like to skip ahead, by all means, but really, what is pizza without love?

My boyfriend will do anything to keep me living in New Jersey. He has to. He did everything to get me to move here.

Let me back up. 

New Jersey isn’t a foreign land to me. It’s where I was raised. Collingswood, NJ “It’s Where You Want to Be.”...Until you decide to move to Brooklyn.

Before I moved there at the end of 2013, I never saw myself living in Brooklyn. New York was a beast and I didn’t think I could do it. But somehow I got there. And I loved it. 

Despite the love, I couldn’t see myself living there forever and I often wondered what would be the reason I left. A job opportunity? Maybe. But my star wasn’t rising fast enough in the comedy scene for that to seem possible. A guy? Doubt it. Definitely wouldn’t be that either. 

One thing I couldn’t predict that did take me out of Brooklyn was COVID. I temporarily escaped when it hit. A weekend trip back to Collingswood turned into a 6 month trip. And through a series of lonely Instagram messages with an old friend named Benjamin, a single Carolyn turned into a falling in love Carolyn. Those details are for another story, but, pandemics, am I right?

I had a lot to consider when I finally returned to my Brooklyn apartment in August 2020. I knew this person I was falling for was special. I also knew what Benjamin and I wanted out of a relationship wouldn’t be as fulfilling long-distance. 

My lease was up in March so I started planning a new life in my old stomping grounds. I conquered, rather, survived the beast of Brooklyn. What else could I do?

A lot had to happen but at the end of March 2021, a year after I temporarily left Brooklyn, I left Brooklyn a bit more permanently. I moved into my own place in Collingswood, opened a store (I repeat, pandemics, am I right?), and got to do a lot more than just fall in love. Getting to be in love and fully around Benjamin with all his smells and kisses and touches and screenless eye contact that he comes with was and still is amazing. I love him so much. 

However, moving is emotional. And moving from a city of anonymity to a quiet street in the suburbs (where the threat of a local Facebook group looms over your every move) is an emotional rollercoaster. 

What I’m saying is, leaving Brooklyn was hard. 

As I mourned my former Brooklyn life, I was doing my best to slowly resurrect parts of my former Jersey life. I also needed to build a business from scratch. It was a confusing clash of nostalgia and unknown future that made for some messy nights. My emotional rollercoaster kept Benjamin busy. He was going above and beyond to make my transition back to the 856 (or 609 if you’re anybody who’s anybody) area code tolerable. 

One of his tricks was pizza.

If I was having a particularly down day, the text “Let’s get a pizza.” would instantly bump me up a few notches. As we looked up a place to grab a pie, I realized that we were surrounded by the same, if not more, amount of pizza places as I was back in my Brooklyn neighborhood. Being surrounded by pizza comes with the territory in New York. I wasn’t expecting the same some 80 miles away.

Some of the pizza places in our search I had been driving by my whole life without ever once stepping inside. “What if the best pizza is in one of these places?” I asked Benjamin. 

I can’t remember who came up with the actual plan. It’s hard to tell with us. Yes, we have the ability to finish each other’s sentences but it’s more than that. It’s like our brains are always having a conversation. A wavelength keeping us connected and we just go along with the ride. 

And this time the ride (and plan) was pizza.

We would eat (and rate) as many pizzas in South Jersey we could until the end of year. We created a spreadsheet and came up with some super serious criteria to base our ratings on:

First bite satisfaction How satisfying is the first bite? 
Oil puddle goodness I like a lot. Benjamin likes a bit less than that.
Crust Benjamin appreciates the art of the crust. I see it as more of a pizza handle. 
Number of slices eaten The most unscientific of the metrics. 
Cheeeeeeeeeese Yes spelled like that. Don’t skimp.

We made an executive decision to only rate basic, cheese pies. No fancy Grandmas. No margheritas. Sorry Bricco and Pizza Crime. Large, cheese pizzas only. 

We added notes for each one. Some of which were informative: Lots of love goes into this pizza. Garlic. Basil. Great pizza.* 

Some of which were circumstantial: Watched the Many Saints of Newark while we ate it, so maybe that helped.** 

And some of which were damning: Tasted like really good bowling alley pizza.***

Pizza became an official part of our routine. We fantasized about publishing our results and becoming the go to pizza experts of South Jersey. We’d get free slices. We’d be invited to restaurant openings. A picture of us would replace whatever faded newspaper clipping every pizza place has hanging on their wall: “Couple in Love Wants a Coupla Slices” 

Clearly we set our goals high but that’s what we were used to doing. Before our ‘Pizza Joints’ spreadsheet was our ‘Life Plan’ spreadsheet, a spreadsheet we created when I returned to Brooklyn. This spreadsheet laid out our path to being able to be together. Conversations we needed to have, boxes we needed to check, vaccines we needed to get. We followed it. We were successful. We were obsessed. Obsessed with pizza, obsessed with spreadsheets, obsessed with each other. Our ‘Pizza Joint’ spreadsheet confirmed what the ‘Life Plan’ spreadsheet already knew: Some of the best laid plans, pizza, and people were in our own backyard. 

That being said, our love may be gooey and cheesy but we do take our pizza ratings very seriously. And so should you. Check them out and be sure to invite us to your next pizza party. 

South Jersey Pizza Ratings

*Villa Barone, December 27th, 2021, Benjamin Garvey
**Pepperoni Pizza, October 3rd, 2021, Benjamin Garvey
***Bistro Pizzeria, May 26th, 2021, Carolyn Busa

I haven't stole a tampon from my office bathroom in 9 months (and other end of year, pandemic victories worth celebrating)

I haven’t stole a tampon from my office’s bathroom in 9 months.

I danced like no one but my sleeping dog was watching.

I stopped doing stand-up comedy (for my health). 

I completed a sassy adult coloring book.

I extended my bedtime routine from 7 to 107 minutes.

I signed up for Duolingo and learned pertinent, Polish phrases like “A new fish.”

I finally got that message about my iCloud storage almost being full to go away…for 2 minutes. 

I reevaluated every aspect of my life on a daily basis.

I figured out how to play that cool sound from the movie Annihilation on my synthesizer.

I made a bundt cake. 

I wondered how a bundt pan was made.

 I discovered How It’s Made. 

I cured my dog’s separation anxiety while simultaneously developing my own.

I became celibate.

I watched Home Alone...3.

I spent a day pretending to be Olivia Colman pretending to be Queen Elizabeth II.

I signed up for a CBS All Access free trial.

I forgot to delete said trial.

I watched Picard.

Need more? Enjoy a video summary of my accomplishments here.

Happy new year!

This is what happens to your body when you snort

What is female snorting?

The question on everyone’s mind! Is it a laugh? Is it a chuckle? Is it a chortle?

Before I even get into what happens to the body when you snort, it’s important to realize what snorting is. Snorting is the inhale and exhalation of air from a laughing woman’s nose. It could be a gush or a trickle. It could be quiet or loud.

Why do we snort?

Humor is a big reason why we snort. Possibly the biggest reason of all!

The varying levels of joke may partially explain why some women experience dramatic snorts while others don’t. Some women may need a looong set-up, some women may need intense, hilarious punchline after punchline after punchline after punchline.

Does everyone snort?

Snorting still remains somewhat of an anomaly. Because of this, getting an exact number of how many women experience snorting isn’t easy. A 2005 study found that, out of 1000 women, 40% of them snort with a partner while a 2010 study of 1500 women found that percentage to be 25. To add to the mystery of snorting, what’s considered snorting can be anywhere from a quick, high-pitched snort to an extended deep snort. Everybody is different!

Can someone make themselves snort?

Absolutely! But just like not everyone can wink or tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue, don’t think something is wrong with you if you can’t right away.

Like anything else, practice makes perfect!

If you’re having trouble snorting on your own, try stimulating your funny bone by watching a funny movie or making goofy faces in the mirror. You could also try having a glass of wine or partaking in a little marijuana. Relying on our favorite substances can be a good starting place but don’t rely too much. The best and most important thing you can do is relax.

Does snorting make a relationship better?

Yes and no.

Some women say they don’t feel a difference when they snort but others say it’s the most powerful release they’ve ever experienced. On the contrary, others have reported that snorting actually ruined their relationship. Like anything else, it’s up to you!

Can you fake a snort?

Oh yeah. But try not to.

There’s no need to build anyone’s ego or set false expectations if a partner isn’t actually funny or making you laugh. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself dealing with someone who thinks they are totally hilarious but actually total duds.

If snorting is something important to you and your partners, don’t fake, communicate!

In summary?

You don’t have to snort for a relationship to be good but is it fun? Hell yeah! If you’re a snorter enjoy the ride! But if you’re not? Who cares! Happy laughing!

My birth day

A few months back when I was living at home with my parents, I gave my mom the ultimate Mother’s Day gift. I interviewed her about the experience of giving birth to me. Who needs a restaurant gift card when you have memories of Carolyn bursting through your vaginal canal to share?

While to some my gift may have seemed ‘lazy’ or ‘cheap’, let me be the first to tell you that, yes. Yes it was. But with it being the middle of a pandemic and my Dad having already agreed to make a nice dinner of risotto and asparagus, it was the best I could do.

The idea came from an email I received from one of my favorite sites, Allbodies. In it they suggested, if possible, interviewing the person who gave birth to you and even provided starting questions for having a conversation about that glorious day. Since I also had the added benefit of having my dad on standby for those random, additional details he’s so greatly known for, I decided to go for it.

CAROLYN: Was October 29th my due date?

MOM: Oh my god, Carolyn. I don’t know if it was before your due date. Or after your due date. 

DAD: It was close enough.

CAROLYN: Do you remember what time I was born?

DAD: I don’t know. Your sister was 10:06 in the morning.

MOM: You don’t remember these things 34 years later.

CAROLYN: I remember dad changing my diaper!

DAD: I don’t think so.

CAROLYN: I remember two instances.

MOM: My god.

CAROLYN: I need more wine. 

MOM: Me too.

CAROLYN: Did you have an epidural?

MOM: Yes, Oh my god. Are you kidding me, I wouldn’t have survived without it. 

CAROLYN: Were you in a room by yourself?

DAD: It was a private room and private delivery.

MOM: A lot of people were there for the delivery. They were all watching, it was like a sideshow.

CAROLYN: Sideshow, got it.

DAD: This was before medicine became a corporation, Carolyn. 

CAROLYN: What did it feel like to hold me for the first time?

MOM: Oh, it was wonderful, it was euphoric.

CAROLYN: Mom, I’m being serious. 

MOM: I’m being serious too!

CAROLYN: I thought you were being sarcastic.

MOM: No, it's a wonderful feeling. To know that you and your husband produced that, it’s a beautiful feeling.

DAD: [to my dog] What’s up doggy? 

CAROLYN: Did you breastfeed?

MOM: No, I didn’t breastfeed. It just wasn’t my bag. Or my boob. [laughter]

CAROLYN: Someone else’s boob then?

MOM: No! You ate like a pig though. I can remember after you were born, they came with the formula in the bottle to give you. So I gave it to you and the nurse came back and she looked at the bottle and said, “I didn't expect you to give her that much!”

CAROLYN: I was just saying how I’m such a fast eater!

MOM: Well, there you go.

CAROLYN: Going back in time, what advice would you give yourself? 

MOM: I don’t know. I guess, “Don’t sweat the small stuff”.

CAROLYN: Oh come on, you can’t quote dumb cliche books.

MOM: Well it’s the truth through. 

CAROLYN: Why? What ‘small stuff’ were you sweating?

MOM: I don’t know, you just wanna make sure you do everything right and according to protocol…

CAROLYN: Well, what books did you read?

MOM: I didn’t read another book then.

CAROLYN: But did you with [my sister]?

MOM: Yeah.

CAROLYN: Which book?

MOM: I don’t know. One of those ‘everything-you-always-wanted-to-know-about-having-a-baby’ books. 

DAD: Doctor Spock was out of style by then, Carolyn.

CAROLYN: What’s that mean?

DAD: Dr. Benjamin Spock of the 1940’s, 50s, and 60s was the absolute authority of childbirth.

MOM: I probably read that for [my sister] then I bet.

DAD: No. By 1980 he was out style. 

CAROLYN: ‘Dr. Spock out of style.’ Got it. Okay, did you climax while giving birth?

MOM: No!

CAROLYN: Some people do! 

MOM: Oh my god.

CAROLYN: What did transitioning into parenthood teach you?

MOM: Oh god, after I’ve had wine. Uh, don’t leave anything lying around that’s too little that kids are gonna put in their mouth?

CAROLYN: Oh my god, Mom, something real. 

MOM: Okay. It taught me that you’re gonna have a lot less time for yourself but you don’t mind it cause you love the kids so much and you’d do anything for your kids. You put your kids ahead of yourself. Instead of you first, it’s them first.

DAD: Except when you puke in the car.

CAROLYN: Is there anything about how I was born or how I was as a newborn that is representative of what you see in me today? Like was I funny? [snorts]

DAD: You just laid around and made funny noises. 

MOM: You liked being with other kids and playing with them. You wanted to play with everybody.

CAROLYN: Okay, now tell me about the poop. 

[I had recently been made aware that I pooped as I was being born and obviously needed to know more]

MOM: The nurse came back and said you had meconium staining. That you had a bowel movement while you were inside me and still in labor.

CAROLYN: Did you make any poop jokes?

MOM: What?

CAROLYN: Like after I was born, were you like ‘Haha, poop.’

MOM:  No! It could’ve been very serious. You could’ve choked on it. 

CAROLYN: [Laughs]

MOM: [Takes a bite of the dessert crepe my sister sent to the house earlier cause she’s a very good daughter] Steve, you want some of this? It’s really good. Nutella, strawberries, oh god. 

DAD: The day before you came home from the hospital they hosted a dinner for all the mothers in the hospital.

CAROLYN: That seems like something they don’t do anymore, huh?

DAD: This was before medicine was a corporation!

MOM: They didn’t give us wheelchairs. We were all so exhausted by the time we got there.

CAROLYN: That’s still nice though.

DAD: Yes, it was a very good meal. I believe it was filet mignon. 

CAROLYN: Where did the name Carolyn come from?

MOM: We just liked the name. I tried to find a name that would flow well with Busa. I wanted 3-syllables. 

CAROLYN: Any final words about this ‘shitty’ birth?

MOM: Nowadays I think they encourage you to have the baby stay with you in the room but then it was they took them back to the nursery. 

CAROLYN: Overnight?

MOM: Yeah.

CAROLYN: No wonder why I couldn’t sleep for years. 

MOM: You couldn't sleep in the crib. You didn't want to be by yourself when you went to bed. You always liked having people around. I would sit in the chair in the tv room and you would fall asleep in my arms and it was a wonderful feeling having you fall asleep there.

CAROLYN: Did you want to do that tonight?

MOM: No. But it really was a nice feeling.

Thanks, Mom. Happy birth day.

Getting ready for bed is the new getting some

It's been over 3 months since I’ve touched or been touched by another human being. And now with record-breaking virus surges, I’m wondering if it could be another three. Or 4. But that’s ok. I’m ok. Because I have...my bedtime routine.  Yes, my bedtime routine has been my one stop, curbside pick-up shop for intimacy and human connection, albeit my own. The secret’s out my horny, social distanced friends: getting ready for bed is the new getting some.

The bedtime routine begins anywhere between 3pm and 5:15pm. I close my bedroom door, light candles (flameless cause I’m quarantining in the attic at my parent’s house in the suburbs) and put on my Spotify Bedtime Routine Mix. Part 1 is my absolute favorite of the whole process as it involves a full-length mirror and an ‘impromptu’ striptease that I rehearse every morning in the shower very carefully. The first song on the mix is Gold Dust Woman so trust me it’s hot.

I dance and take off my clothes until about minute 1:18 in the song, at which point no matter where I am in the choreography, I stop to touch the reflection of my face in the mirror. I do this for the entire length of the chorus. After Stevie ‘picks up the pieces and goes home’ I dramatically collapse onto my bed, writhing my body for as long as it takes to feel something. 

Roughly forty-five minutes later, things continue with a very intricate exfoliating ceremony. It involves none of the expected tools of exfoliating—no pumice stones or rice enzyme powders—it’s just me rubbing up against a bookshelf asking myself “Babe, why are you so good to me?”

(Note to reader: If dominant/submissive role plays aren’t your thing, skip to the oral paragraph below.)

Things get a little kinky in part 2 of my bedtime routine. Let’s just say I’m a bad girl, who likes to say “Avee-no!” to dry skin. If I was a good girl who made it on time for all her Zoom meetings that day, I massage my lotion into my legs in long, deep, tenderizing strokes. But, uh-oh. Today I accidentally slept through the virtual birthday cake for Dick ‘Refuses-to-go-by-Richard’ in Finance. Now my lavender lotion must be spanked on as punishment. 

On to oral. 

I have to charge my electric toothbrush mid-brush ever since brushing my teeth turned into a 10+ minute dental dance, of which I devote the previously recommended two minutes entirely to my tongue. I’m also pretty certain I scrubbed every layer of enamel off my teeth in a failed attempt to climax by brushing. 

I was never a fan of water picks, but in COVID times I have 2. When I hold them at just the right angle it kinda feels like the sloppy make-out session before a drunken threesome. It’s nice, however, I’m considering buying a third so we can just double date instead.

After the brushing of the teeth comes the brushing of my hair. I brush my hair with the seriousness of a Juliet about to poison herself for dear, Romeo. I stare at myself in the mirror as I complete each full, 10-15 second stroke. It takes an hour but it’s worth it. I smile when I’m able to run my fingers through my knotless head of hair as I finish another bottle of wine from a New Jersey vineyard I’ve never visited. “Tomasello’s Daffodil White, this do I drink to thee!”

Cleansing and moisturizing my face is my battle cry. I’ve never had to Lipsync for My Life before but I imagine it’s quite similar. There’s beats. There’s pauses. I throw a kiki. Everything I ever learned in a soap commercial is put to the test. 

It starts as most romances do with a cotton ball soaked in toner. I’m usually not a fan of PDA, but I don’t mind it here. I drag the cotton ball in seven long strokes down my face, saying my name each time as I do. I run a finger over my eyebrows and ask myself, “Baby, why are you so cute?”

Once that is complete, the curtain rises for the finale and star of the COVID-bedtime routine: the night cream. Previously, her swan song consisted of a dab. Perhaps a dollop if I was feeling wild. I mean at close to $20 for a 1.7 oz jar, she was not one to use in excess. But in this new touchless, sexless world, the night cream flows like a river. I scoop her up with 4 fingers and spread her on like war paint. I hum deeply as I rub her in my skin and imagine our life together.

With the face moisturizing officially complete, I look back in the mirror and once again run my fingers down my reflection’s face and neck. I have completely and fully given myself over to the bedtime routine. I give my reflection a kiss and hug myself tightly. 

It is time for bed, baby.

2020 Award for Best App for Sexting During a Quarantine

Congratulations Instagram! You are 2020’s Best App for Sexting During a Quarantine! 

You’ve beaten out Facebook Messenger, Twitter DMs, WhatsApp even Marco Polo! And while you don’t have the extra added thrill of possibly being found out by HR like you do in a naughty Slack message, you do have everything a horny person needs to communicate through a global, gut-wrenching pandemic (and more)!

At first glance, Instagram seems like every other app out there - you can message, you can send a gif, you can add a photo - all great! But within the basic framework of Instagram messenger lives so many creative sexting possibilities you and your lovers need to start putting to use. Here are my virtual foreplay, fave four:

1. Tease ‘Em
What I love about Instagram messenger is the option to take photos within the app to either disappear after first glance, allow for a single replay, or remain in the chat. Oh, darlings, what fun you can have with that! Keep them on their toes. Will your photo blow up in their face or will they be allowed to keep it and admire it for weeks? Make them work for those permanent photos. Oh, you want to look at this amazing selfie I took using the Hands Free option in the pajamas you love over and over again? Well, what’s in it for me?

2. Auditory Lovers
My sex playlists have become as dusty as my sex life. But with Instagram, the music I’d like to be boning to can be added to the pictures and videos I’m pretending to bone to. Having the option to add music to messages can really set the mood, especially for auditory lovers like myself who can’t get off without the Pitchfork described ‘Plutonian pings’ of Air’s 2004 Talkie Walkie.

3. Boomerang It Baby
You may be used to seeing Boomerangs of glasses cheering drinks, a jump in the middle of the street, a silly dance move at a wedding or bar. But I’ve found the Boomerang really booms when used for sexting. Where are those fingers going? Is that shirt being taken off or on? Omg that line of drool is about to fall right out of his...woop! Nevermind! It went back in!

4. Filter Roleplay 
With all the various filters available for selfies, there’s no reason why you can’t keep up with your favorite role playing fantasies in mind (puppy fetishes, anyone?). Does your lover get off on you with long eyelashes? A Mouth Face? Bunny ears? Maybe you’re sexting with a freak who has a very specific Twin Peaks: The Return fetish? Get on with your evil, horny self! 

A Wartime, Love Letter To My Sex Life During Lockdown

My dearest, darling sex life,

 Oh, how I long for you! 

I’m sick to my stomach about leaving you behind in the city while I quarantine at my parent’s house. When this pandemic was thrust upon us (Ugh! Thrust!), everything was spinning! No one knew what was happening! I packed my bags and escaped to the suburbs in such a panicked rush that I foolishly forgot to let you out one last time. Now I’ve been here without you for three months and I am full of regret.

Particularly at this time, without me, you may be asking yourself, “Why are we not spending day after day, night after night together? You wear pajamas daily and are horny from sunrise to sunset!” And I just want to assure you, not a minute goes by that you aren’t on my mind.

Summer is near and the days are long, darling. Every night, just like I’m doing right now, I watch the sunset alone with you in my thoughts. The cool breeze tingles like my feet used to before climax. The sliver of the moon smiles the same smile you have brought to my face. Remember when we first met, dear? Oh, how you brought me such a fright! I didn’t even know it was in me! I contemplated our relationship for years wondering what the big deal was about you. But you eventually showed me your true self. Reminded me you were more than just a charlie horse in my calf.

You haunt me. 

I swear I see you in the clouds. Is that you, sweet pea? I close my eyes and see the many versions of you I have learned to love. The quick, the long, the quiet, the loud, the bathroom in the bar, the threesomes. How innocent we were doing it in public or with multiple people! Will the virus change all that, darling? 

I am horny, my love! 

These are hard times, darling. But we must remain in good health. We must find ways to stay sane and happy while we’re separated.  I have been finding pleasure in my own two hands. Can you believe it, love? These ten, simple, fingers bringing me to climax! I think I can hear you laughing! 

I’ve become very close with my imagination in our weeks apart. Last night I imagined the ceiling fan was spitting into my mouth! Silly me. These outlandish thoughts are kind but they do not bring me the complete joy that you do. You penetrate me, split me, drill me, make me crawl. You are magnificent and I love you more than seems humanly possible. You will never be replaced. When the stars finally align for our timely reunion, I will give myself fully and completely to you. 

The sun has just about set. I must leave you for tonight, dearest. Whenever you read this, please imagine me melting and moaning and begging for pizza after. Let’s hope it won’t be much longer before we can order a large with extra cheese again. 

I’ll be dreaming of you. That is a promise. Dream of me?

Yours wholly and truly,

Carolyn

P.S. Honey, I could use some cigarettes if you got any.

Channeling my libido into Netflix’s Cheer (+ other useless things to do when you’re too horny)

Note to reader: I wrote this a little over a week ago before life was put on pause. But now that our world has been thrown into a ‘WTF do we do with ourselves’ state of mind, perhaps some of this ‘advice’ may still ring true. Being too horny is never fun and I imagine for a lot of us (especially those without live-in partners who are spending their quarantine at their parents ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), it’s about to get a lot worse. I hope you find some humor in this and I hope you and your loved ones stay safe and healthy.

My insides are suddenly tingly. My plans for the night suddenly shattered. My brain is slowly becoming a cloud. But not the kind of cloud that stores all my JPEGs and PDFs in organized folders, no. This is a storm cloud of disorganization and randomness only accepting those files with a .horny extension.

Every so often my libido takes over my body. I disconnect from Me and enter the realm of being Way Too Horny Me. I usually go down many Google rabbit holes, typing in variations of ‘help I’m too horny’, ‘sex drive out of control’, ‘SOS high libido’, but everytime I do, I’m met with some guru or YouTube persona telling me to simply channel my libido. 

I abhor being told to channel my libido. Oh you know that powerful, primal thing stirring inside you? Yeah, try watercolors. It’s not that I don’t have partners that match my libido, it’s that they only match when we’re together. And because our sex life has to be constrained to a calculated, bullshit of ‘casual’ encounters that can occur only every so many days before being misconstrued as ‘too serious’, until I find the appropriate, willing partner, I’m left alone to clean up the mess. 

But I’m still not sure what channeling my libido even entails! The sites I come across always seem to contain vague, breathy instructions paired with images reminiscent of trippy posters sold at Spencers Gifts in the 90s, as if this trypophobia nightmare represents my desire.

Well, now I’m just horny and nauseous!

Their advice reads as if I’m some spiritual Na’vi, ready to connect my tail into some sparkling, purple flower growing out of mother earth’s vag. But I’m not a Na’vi and as I said before, I don’t have the proper mountain banshee lying around ready to accept my life force! So when I read things like “allow your sexual energy to flow through without resistance but also contain it at the same time” I want to scream!

Okay, so my sexual energy is my creative life force energy juice blah blah blah. But please! Give me some advice I can actually understand! Until then, here is my own temporary plan for curbing those stubborn, extended moments of horny.

1. Watch Netflix’s Cheer
I wasn’t horny the entire 6 episodes. Jerry's pureness, Monica’s stone-cold glares, the constant possibility of broken bones, that one guy’s mustache - there’s a lot of distraction in this docuseries.

2. Organize your tupperware
How many miso soup containers does one really need? To stack or not stack? Lids on or off?  Play around with some sorting variations and make a promise to yourself to stay organized for at least 24 hours. 

3. Change your duvet cover
Instead of sexual frustration, try inside out, left side, right side, top or bottom wtf-is-this-thing frustration!

4. Clean your underwear in your bathroom sink 
Believe me, you’ll never look at your intimates the same way again. Something about getting up close and personal with them in the same place you brush your teeth is disturbing. I also keep a bucket in my apt which does the trick.

5. Text all your friends about how horny you are
You’ll find out who your true friends are fast. Maybe have fun with it and come up with a little chain letter: Text your ten horniest friends or you’ll be too horny F0REveEEEErrrrrrrr$$$!!!!

6. Update your shit
Is your passport up-to-date? Check now. How ‘bout your license? Starting October 2020, you’re gonna need one of those new licenses to fly. But be careful if planning any vacations. Vacations are usually sexy and planning one could make you hornier.

7. Chakras are a thing, right? 
Seems like this orange one’s got something to do with our groin and creativity. Give that a pat when you don’t feel like or are sick of masturbating.

8. Dance around your apartment like no ones watching with all your blinds up and heck wearing no clothes
Note: This only helps if you’re an exhibitionist.

9. Up your GIF game
Download Giphy and get to giffin’! Create a stockpile of personalized horny GIFs for your next sexting session.

10. Stare at your dog for as long as necessary 
It’s scientifically proven that staring into a dog’s eyes is as fulfilling as an orgasm. And while that’s entirely not true at all, a long look into a dog’s eyes is sometimes just the thing we all need (as long as they let you).

Pseudo-sex parties are weird

I’ve never been to a sex party. I’ve been to parties on their way to becoming sex parties. But since I’ve never been to an actual sex party, I can’t speak on what scenario would make me more uncomfortable, however, I can say for certain, pseudo-sex parties are way up there.

Because instead of just being the party it’s trying to be, it’s costumed in certain elements that somewhere along the way got mixed up with representing ‘sex’. 

These parties all seem to share similar Groupon-like activities and qualities: Secret location (duh), costumes of some sort (think bathrobes, Alice in Wonderland-type gear), drinks disguised as ‘elixirs’, a Himalayan salted crystal tip jar thingamajig, um, foliage on the dance floor that continues to get caught in your hair, oh and, how could I forget, a cacao ceremony. No pseudo-sex party is complete without a cacao ceremony! 

The names of the parties always sound like resorts off of Highway 307 in Cancun - Dreams, Breathe, Secrets of the Moon or some shit - everything is ‘lush’ and your ticket price includes as much or as little ‘social wellness’ as you desire (Desire. Another great party name. Desires of the Desert, Secret Desires, Deepest Desires, you get it). 

At the party I went to last week within 20 minutes I had participated in some sort of chakra breathing ceremony led by a dude and his synthesizer before sitting in a bathtub filled with rose petals and two strangers. Because of the sentence before this, I kept laughing, but the strangers in the tub with me were very seriously admiring their petal-covered skin as sweet little ‘this is normal’ moans left their mouths. The woman next to me (who claimed that this was her third petal bath of the month) showered me in petals over my head when I told her it was my first. Sure, it felt nice but I wasn’t sure if her baptism was some signal or ritual that meant ‘something else’. 

That’s the problem with these pseudo-sex parties. Everything seems like it’s on the verge of being something else. I tiptoe carefully around each corner and conversation unsure of intentions. I know these are my own insecurities and hang-ups to work through but I would much prefer a pseudo-sex party for people like me, people who will always have some (if not all) of their guard up. 

To stick with the theme of trippy party names, it could be called something like Guarded Hearts and Minds, Avoiding (Third) Eye Contact, or Just Because I Hate Costumes Doesn’t Mean I’m Not Down to Fuck. Instead of chakra breathing ceremonies, every 45 minutes all the lights would come up, the music would stop and everyone would yell “This is not normal!” before going back to their business. Massages would not be permitted on the dance floor unless three or more people and a conga line were involved. All the bartenders would be fully clothed, former diner waiters from South Jersey with absolutely no time for your CBD BS and at the end of the night instead of being sprayed by rose water there would be complimentary urine sample cups for you to immediately drop off for testing. Oh, and cacao ceremonies would be replaced by a roundtable discussion on the best Girl Scout Cookies. 

Ok fine. A naked roundtable discussion on the best Girl Scout Cookies.

How to embrace celibacy when you aren’t having sex

Masturbation.

The end.

Just kidding. Masturbation is indeed a wonderful way to combat celibacy but it isn’t the only solution. 

Also, let me backup. 

What is celibacy, Wikipedia? 

Celibacy is the state of voluntarily being unmarried, sexually abstinent, or both, usually for religious reasons. Mostly used in terms of abstaining from sexual relations. It is often in association with the role of a religious official or devotee.

That’s exactly the definition portrayed on the 6-time Emmy award winning series, Fleabag, as Fleabag grappled with her Hot Priest crush. Given the series popularity, celibacy should be popping off like Rachel’s haircut any day now. Everyone’s doing it! Er, not doing it. 

But, ugh, that definition of celibacy is so intense! Religion?! No, no. My celibacy practice has nothing to do with any deity or leader. It’s also neither voluntary nor pushed away. It just...is. 

Whether you’re having sex every day or every other week, there’s going to be the times in beween when you aren’t. Don’t worry. This isn’t a sex drought and happens to everyone. Sleep, work, commute, shitty dates, stomach aches, shitty dates with stomach aches, deadlines, presidential debates - there’s always going to be someone or something that gets in the way of you fucking. But instead of living life with the constant mindset of “I need to get laid”, there are things you can do to earn your oxytocins and embrace those moments with grace, dignity, and, of course, dirty thoughts.

Crushes
Gotta have em. I don’t care if you’re in a committed relationship or poly-boly-quad-trolley - always be crushin’. Keep one everywhere you go. Like chapstick. Actually, my advice is to never have less than 10. They’re free. Stock up.

Crushes make the days more exciting. You’ll walk into your neighborhood coffee/hardware/grocery/bodega shop and be like ‘Oh right! I have a crush here!’ You’ll be so busy flirting, you won’t even realize you aren’t having sex.

Baths
A good bath can be as fulfilling as any bedroom session. If done right. 

In my recent article for Emojibator, I give you a run-down of how to give yourself a sexy bath. Through my own sexy bath research, I’ve compiled everything you need to take your bath from sexy to sexy. Don’t you just love italics?

Practice your knife skills 
When you’re practicing celibacy in between having sex, you may find you feel a little more...intense than usual. I find a great way to channel this intensity is learn or practice a new skill. Especially one that requires concentration, a steady hand, and the risk of bleeding out. 

Jkjkjk.

But seriously, make a salad that requires a lot of chopping and dicing. Pretend that green pepper is begging to be sliced, that tomato insisting to be cut. Really listen to how the knife moves with their skin and take note for future handling of sensitive items. 

Start planning
I find the best cure for vacation depression is to start planning another vacation. So, whether you have a partner in mind or not, start giving your next rendezvous some initial thoughts. Get some recommendations from friends who are willing to share reviews.

What moves will you want to do? What things will you want to say? Do you want to take the southern route or northern route? Are there any places you missed the last time? Roadside attractions you want to check off? Where will you stay? What will you skip? Is your passport up-to-date?

Figure out these details now because your next sex adventure will pop up sooner thank you think. 

Make eye contact with a dog
I can’t stress this enough. Staring at a dog is by far the second best prescription for temporary celibacy. 

I start every morning with 60-seconds of holding eye contact with my Remy. This gives me enough oxytocins to get up and take my morning shit without once thinking about sex. 

I can’t be certain if this works the same for cats. Please exercise caution.

Don’t just eat cheese, become the cheese
Cheese is so good I think we sometimes forget to take the time to enjoy it. But if you currently aren’t having sex, it is extremely important to activate all 5 of your senses when eating cheese. 

The best way to do this is to become the cheese. Some things to consider:

How would your body taste as mozzarella? How would your body look as sharp cheddar? What noises would you make if you were crumbled blue cheese? Would a truffled asiago have a really loud or really quiet orgasm? Are you shredded? Are you whole? Are you melting? 

This is a wonderful exercise to get to know your body while also eating cheese. 

Wanna (fool, mess, roll, goof) around?

Well, here we are. It’s summertime. Warm days, long nights, sticky thighs and sticky fingers from my dripping...ice cream cone.

Summer makes me think of two things: hot sex and cold ice cream. I want both on a constant loop. I want both at the same time. I’m a Little Miss Veruca Salt of boning and soft serve. I want it now! 

There are many variations of both sex and ice cream: flavors, positions, toppings, toys. You like it on top? Great. Chocolate/vanilla swirl, you say? Sounds good to me!

It’s no surprise to me that we all have different preferences when it comes to sex (and ice cream). But what has come as a surprise to me is how we choose to define what goes down in the bedroom (Or kitchen counter. You do you). Jimmies and sprinkles may mean the same thing but are messing around and fooling around also the same? I say no!

Here is my very scientific glossary of hook-ups for you to review while waiting for your Mister Softee. Or Carvel. Or Ample Hills. Or Van Leeuwen. Or Big Gay. Or Cold Stone. Or DQ. Or Ben and Jerry’s. 

Goofing around - There’s not much action happening during goofing around. Goofing around is the turf that will eventually be played on. But not yet. Right now it’s flirting. Lightly touching someone’s back after a funny joke (that probably wasn’t funny but you’re trying to show interest). Goofing around lays the groundwork for…

Rolling around - Back in the day first base meant kissin’ wit dat tongue. Think of rolling around as a more intense version of first base. But rolling around is not just one kiss. It’s a make-out sesh like none other. It’s all the kisses you wanted to give that person while you were goofing around. Rolling around is a sweet release. But not that kind of release. That release comes with...

Fooling around - Now. We’re. Talking. Or not talking, nah’ mean? Fooling around finally gives us a look at each other’s junk. Questions are answered. Sights are seen. No penetration.

Screwing around - This is a very penetrative-focused hook-up state. Do not ask someone if they want to screw around unless you are 100% sure you are on the same page. There’s no screwing around when it comes to screwing around. 

Messing around - Like screwing around except it’s forbidden. 

Fuck around - All the perks of screwing around with the added bonus of jokes and play. This is a very sexy but very comfortable hook-up. You can stop, start, tickle, tease. Accidentally fart? No problem. You’re done being superficial at this point. You only fuck around with someone you care about moles, smells, freckles, sounds and all. 

Crawl around - Like all of the above but on your knees, you kinky freak. 

Fart around - Marriage. 

Does my glossary match up with yours? What are your go-to descriptions of hooking up? What ones do you use most? Never? Tell me!!!

How to be a big, dumb, sexy human

Dear readers, I feel like my last few entries have been somewhat introspective and thought-provoking. And as much as I’d always like to churn out high-quality ‘thinkers’, there are weeks I just don’t have it in me. Weeks my brain feels broke. This is one of those weeks. I’m disappointed in myself even though I know it’s impossible to always be ON.

Or is it?

dun.
Dun.
DUN!

As a woman who during the majority of the week is horny and ‘feeling herself’, I am constantly walking around in a perpetual state of ON. Not in that annoying, comedian way of testing material in what you thought were genuine conversations but in that ‘I am single, sexy, and YOU BETTER REALIZE IT’ way.

It’s a sick game I play with myself and if you ever see me walking down the street, know there is always a sexy, downtempo, electronic, ambient beat playing in my head. I walk around waiting for someone to snatch me up and put me in their music video.

But, man, proving to the world how god damn sexy I feel can be exhausting! Especially when it comes to those situations where sexy doesn’t play a part. Those situations which remind me, oh right, I am a big, dumb human.

I often wonder what the bad guys in movies and television look like when they’re not being bad. When they’re tying their shoes, taking a shit, waking themselves up with their own fart, paying the person who delivers their food to their bad guy dens (any smart bad guy knows not to use an app delivery service). They don’t show these moments in the movies, just as I try hard not to show my own unsexy vulnerability.

I know it’s impossible not to be human, not to show vulnerability but I have decided, screw it, let’s take those moments that strip us of our confidence and make them sexy. Here are some of the humanizing moments from my week (and maybe yours) and what you can do to make them ON moments. If you can’t beat em, join em...while wearing a red lip.

Picking up dog shit
Why this is unsexy: Shit. Hand.
Make it sexy: Bend over slowly and with purpose, make eye contact with anyone watching, wink

Making more than 1 attempt to zipper jacket
Why this is unsexy: Lack of hand eye coordination, even a toddler can do it
Make it sexy: Every time you miss, look up, giggle and squeak ‘Oopsy!’

Carrying lunch to work in a plastic bag
Unsexy: Bulky, possible leakage, proof you’re not a sweetgreen person
Make it sexy: Swing bag in step with your walk, throw over shoulder, match your outfits with bag (eg. Target bag, wear red!)

Accidentally opening microwave on someone else’s food in the work cafeteria
Why this is unsexy: You’re not eating sweetgreen
Make it sexy: Tell the person whose food it is you liked what you saw, wink

Getting stuck in a turtleneck
Why this is unsexy: You can’t breathe
Make it sexy: Embrace erotic asphyxiation

Trying to count exact change when making a purchase
Why this is unsexy: Pennies
Make it sexy: Do it while tying a cherry stem in your mouth

Getting off at the wrong subway stop and then immediately getting back on
Why this is unsexy: Seeing people you thought you thought you’d never see again
Make it sexy: Announce to everyone “New York, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship" and then faint

Very obviously trying to figure out which way the blue dot is moving on your GPS
Why this is unsexy: You can’t read a map
Make it sexy: Vogue

You fall asleep on train and jerk yourself awake
Why this is unsexy: Drool, whiplash
Make it sexy: Playfully punch the shoulder of the person next to you and say ‘Babe, I don’t snore!’

Getting X-rays at the dentist
Why this is unsexy: Didn’t you get X-rays last time? Are you getting scammed? Will insurance cover these?
Make it sexy: Stick your tits out

When a 'thing' ends

Upset that a ‘thing’ you had with someone recently ended? Don’t be. It was probably barely a ‘thing’!

To be clear, a ‘thing’ is different for everyone. A ‘thing’ can be when you’re seeing someone, dating someone, having sex with someone. I used to laugh when people mourned the end of ‘things’ that had only been 3 months. Four months. Even 6 months. I had been in two 4-year relationships. ‘That’s nothing.’ I’d think.

But as it continued to (and continues to) become harder and harder to find real, lasting connections with people, rather lovers, I realized I was becoming one of those people upset by the end of, what I would previously consider, short, ‘things.’

Well, surprise! I didn’t like the way that felt! I didn’t like the power that these ‘things’ held and I wanted to do something about it. There had to be a way to make me, make all of us, feel less bad.

And guess what? There is!

All you have to do to make the ‘thing’ you’re upset about feel less upsetting is plug it into this very easy, very mathematically correct equation:

TAW x 4 = MTR(NOM > 5) = TNTM(ALOH) = HT

Confused? Let’s take a look! How many times a week (TAW) did your ‘thing’ take place? Okay, now multiply that by 4 (for 4 weeks in a month). There. That’s your Monthly ‘Thing’ Rate or MTR. Now take your MTR and multiply that by the number of months (NOM) your ‘thing’ lasted. This number should not exceed 5. (If your ‘thing’ exceeded 5 months, it was not a ‘thing’. It was a relationship and therefore I cannot help you). Where were we? Right, we just multiplied your MTR by # of months which gives us your Total Number of ‘Thing’ meetings aka TNTM (not to be confused with TMNT, everyone’s favorite mutant turtles).

Still confused? Don’t worry, we’re getting there. Let’s break down the TNTM of a recent ‘thing’ of mine that ended. My TNTM was 20 (It so happens my ‘thing’ fell on a few holidays which led to some extra meetings). Continuing on, the average length of our hangs (ALOH) was 3 hours (When doing this exercise yourself, only count conscious time together, sleeping hours do not count). So now I’m going to take my TNTM and multiply it by my ALOH which leaves me with my total number of Hours Together (HT), 60.

Wow. 60 hours together. That’s it!

60 hours isn’t even a 3-day weekend.

60 hours is barely 7.5 business days of boning. No way you’re putting that on a resume.

60 hours isn’t even the entire series of the 75 episodes of The Americans let alone the 86 episodes of The Sopranos (Imagine you stopped watching after “Marco Polo” and never found out what happened with Tony and Carmela in the pool?).

60 hours is only three 19-hour flights from Newark to Singapore. Ugh, Newark!

60 hours is a cross country trip from New York to Los Angeles, with a handful of rest stops. Nothing you can’t do alone!

60 hours is only .6% of Malcolm Gladwell’s debunked 10,000 hour mastery rule! You ain’t gonna master a skill and you ain’t gonna master this ‘thing’.

So, let’s get over our ‘things’ however long they were because guess what? You’ll be using that equation again soon enough. Another ‘thing’ is always around the corner. Until then, be grateful of the hours together (HT) we get back to focus on our friends, our family, our work, our pets, and of course, ourselves.

Binging and Boning

Whether you’ll be watching Super Bowl LIII this weekend or not, there still remains a lot of TV to watch. Too much. But there’s also a lot of sex to have. This is quite the predicament. How do we keep up with our sex lives while also keeping up with all the latest and greatest tv shows, games, documentaries, commercials, miniseries, docuseries, game shows, and 60 Minute interviews everyone is talking about?!

Just like everyone enjoys sex differently, people enjoy TV differently too. What if you and your partner aren’t on the same episode? What if one of you is, ahem, behind? What about having sex during season finales? Series finales? My god, British Bake Offs?!

Relax!

There are many ways to watch (or, if you’re a squirter, stream) without sacrificing your libido. I’ve done some research and, with the help of Bad Girls Bible, compiled some of the more popular viewing pleasures with the best positions. But remember, when attempting any of the below, exercise caution and protection. Condoms, yes, but you may also want to consider ear plugs for the Maroon 5 Halftime Show.

The One With The Episode You’ve Seen A Million Times
Every now and then we sacrifice the new, popular show for something we’ve seen a million times before. Reruns make us feel safe, feel comfortable. We can quote every episode and yet still laugh at a joke we’ve heard a million times before (Think Friends, Frasier, Seinfeld). Given the urge to quote the dialogue of your favorite characters, you may find face to face positions best. However, you may also find your familiarity with the show will allow you to lose yourself in the moment. Go crazy!
Recommended Positions: Face to Face, Acrobat
Bonus features: Dirty role play your favorite characters (“Could I BE any more wet?”)

Playing Catch-Up (The Good Girl/Boy Scenario)
There are times in a relationship you may watch an episode of ‘your show’ without the other partner. In this ‘good’ scenario, you went ahead with your partner’s permission. Maybe you’re one of those forward-thinking couples who allows each other to explore shows without the other partner present. These positions focus on giving your partner the best view while you stay busy.
Recommended Positions: The High Chair
Bonus features: Shh. No talking!

Playing Catch-Up (The Bad Girl/Boy Scenario)
In this scenario, the partner did not have permission to move ahead in the show. You broke a promise to only enjoy the show together. This greatly changes how to approach the catch-up. Bring out the handcuffs because someone’s about to be punished.
Recommended Positions: Handcuffed to a bed, obviously
Bonus features: Take no chances of an accidental spoiler and turn that volume up

Planet Earth
Every now and then we need a break from reality tv in the form of housewives and watch the original reality programming: nature documentaries. Sensual birds of paradise, safari landscapes, carnivorous cravings  - you’ll find it very easy to bring out your inner beast. Challenge yourself with positions you’ve always been too reserved to do. They won’t be pretty but they will be wild.
Recommended Positions: Doggy Style (duh), The Praying Mantis
Bonus Features: Make a promise to only make animal noises

Murder/Mystery/Creep Documentary
There’s an obvious trend of creepy, crimey, murdery, addictive documentaries. Not only are they creepy, they’re a huge time commitment, they’re very depressing, and sometimes they don’t even give you all the answers! It’s tempting to just 69 and call it a day. But you have to pay attention and having your head buried in someone’s crotch will not allow for that. For this type of viewing, focus on side, spooning positions. Make sure you both are focused on the details and each other.
Recommended Positions: Sofa Spooning
Bonus Features: Follow-up with a looooong shower

Can’t Stand The Heat
Cooking shows can be relaxing like Barefoot Contessa or stress-inducing like Top Chef. Whatever the pace, do the obvious and move to the kitchen. Have a laptop or tablet handy because you’re going to be moving around a lot. Here’s where we bring out all of our kitchen counter, bent over table, ass against the fridge positions. Set a kitchen timer (you don’t want your dinner burning) and chop, chop!
Recommended Positions: Washing Machine, Sitting
Bonus Features: That bottle of sesame oil has been sitting there awhile

The Cliffhanger - Season Finale F**king
Whether you’ve been watching a show live as it airs or binged an entire season, reaching the season finale is always an exciting moment. Channel that excitement into your sex and bounce it out! I recommend finishing before the last critical 15 moments of the episode. Those surprise cliffhangers could really hurt someone.
Recommended Positions: Bouncing Spoon
Bonus Features: Write down your predictions and reward those that were close

It Was all a Dream - Series Finale F**king
You’ve spent the last few weeks (or months) watching this show. It’s likely you both will have a lot of emotions attached to the show and to the characters. Give the show and sex the respect it deserves. Deep, long, and intense positions.
Recommended Positions: Deep Impact, Cross
Bonus Features: Keep tissues close by

*In both season and series finale sessions, be sure to make time for a post-finale recap. Ask each other questions: What did you think of that finale? Was it worth it? What would you do differently? *

Your favorite slogans sex-ified!

Okay, so I wasn’t able to come up with any sex resolutions a few weeks ago. However, I was able to do the very serious task of sexifying your favorite slogans! I know, I know! Genius! Spectacular! Exactly what you needed! Not at all a waste of my time or yours! Enjoy.

1. Once You Pop The Fun Won’t Start For A Few More Years After You Figure Your Shit Out

2. Because Your Orgasm Is Worth It

3. Eat Fresh (Hygiene Is important)

4. I’m Loving It (It = Sex)

5. Just Do It (Even On Your Period)

6. It’s Finger Blastin’ Good

7. Have It Your Consensual Way

8. Good to the Last Drop Of Lube

9. America Runs on Fuckin

10. Threesomes! They’re Magically Delicious!

11. So Easy a Caveman Can Do It (And Did! That’s Why We’re Here!)

12. Snap, Crackle, Pop That Pussy

This weekend I masturbated in my parent’s house and here’s what happened

I took my pants off.
My mom knocked on the door.
I put my pants back on.
I told my mom I didn’t need her to wash my clothes (I did).
I took my pants off again.
I thought about fucking.
I came.
I went on Facebook.
The boy who beat me in the 1996 spelling bee randomly liked a post.
I thought about fucking the boy who beat me in the 1996 spelling bee.
My dad yelled asking if I wanted ravioli.
I yelled ‘Yeah, I’ll eat some, thanks!’
I tried remembering the word that made me lose.
It wasn’t ‘photosynthesis’.
I definitely spelled that one right.
Can you believe it?
A 5th grader correctly spelling photosynthesis?
It was amazing.
I came again.
I messaged the boy who beat me in the 1996 spelling bee.
He told me the word was ‘hygiene’.
He also told me he was divorced.
I came again!
My dad yelled asking how many ravioli I wanted.
I yelled ‘Well, how big are they?’
He yelled ‘They’re decent!’
I yelled ‘I’ll take 4!’
I closed my eyes.
I thought about fucking again.
My dad yelled that dinner was ready.
I yelled ‘Okay!’
I tried for a fourth.
My mom also yelled that dinner was ready.
I yelled ‘I know!’
I got frustrated.
It wasn’t going to happen.
I put my pants on.
I went downstairs.
I ate ravioli.
I asked my dad for a ride to Mike’s.
My dad drove me to Mike’s.
I commented on the neighbor’s Christmas decorations.
I thought of that time in college he picked me up from TJ’s.
And I reeked of marijuana.
Did I reek of masturbation?
I told myself to shut up.
We got to Mike’s.
I told my dad I loved him.
The end.

What to expect when you start having really good, satisfying sex

Unsure if you’re having really good, satisfying sex? Are you having orgasms or are the orgasms having you?*

After having really good, satisfying sex for a whole three years now, I’ve learned the results of really good, satisfying sex go beyond orgasms. Good sex trickles down from your loins and drips into your everyday life like you never expected. You’ll look in the mirror one day (floor length preferably) and suddenly see the best version of yourself staring back at you. Wave at her/him! This is the new you. Just be warned, if you do this exercise with your sex partner (or dog) still in the room, you will be judged.

If you’re still unsure if you are indeed having really good, satisfying sex, take a look at my list of super, well-researched signs that I have discovered are absolute direct results of having really good, satisfying sex. Are you nodding along? Do any of these seem familiar to you? Well, congratulations! You’re having really good, satisfying sex!

SIGNS YOU MAY BE HAVING REALLY GOOD, SATISFYING SEX

1. You came a bunch

2. Your body is constantly exhausted but you haven’t been to the gym in over a month

3. You cancel your gym membership

4. You call your parents just to say ‘Hi!’

5. You almost tell your parents about the really good, satisfying sex you’re having because it’s so good you’re convinced they would be happy for you

6. You buy a new outfit (You deserve it!)

7. You post a picture of the New York skyline with the comment ‘#grateful’

8. You keep bringing up how tired you are to your coworkers hoping they ask what you did last night

9. You actually whistle while you work

10. You’re inspired to stop (or start) smoking

11. You say out loud more than once ‘I should cook more.’

12. You take the time to write a super positive, detailed Yelp review about your local bodega

13. You go to Target on a Sunday

14. You schedule your dental cleaning before they send a reminder

15. You take the bus

16. You call that friend who had a baby, gosh, two years ago?

17. You send that friend an Amazon gift card with a message about ‘staying in touch more’

18. You return your library books

19. When you return your library books you breathe in hard and say out loud to yourself ‘I love knowledge!’

20. You buy a single flower

21. You buy a new chapstick

22. What the hell, you buy all your friends new chapsticks

23. You bring back authentic emojis in your texts :-) :) ;)

24. You listen to Gershwin

25. You enjoy Gershwin

26. You make ‘I Got Rhythm’ your ringtone

27. You buy ‘Thank You’ notes (just in case!)

28. You meditate more but really just use that time to think about all the good, satisfying sex you’re having

*I don’t know what that means either

Kinky thoughts of a college Carolyn

Something I look forward to with My Sex Project is looking back years from now and cringing with delight at the thoughts and musings of a 33-year old Carolyn on her sexual journey. Much like I did when I read this rambling I wrote as a 20-year old Carolyn during her sophomore year of college.

I found this writing on an old hard drive and couldn’t believe it was written almost exactly 13 years ago to the day on November 17th, 2005. Here was a Carolyn doing exactly what she’s doing now: trying to figure this shit out. I knew I had a lot to learn then. I know I have a lot to learn now. Crazy how much we change while never really changing at all.

This was awkward as hell to read for me (It will be for you too). I feel embarrassed for the Carolyn who thought she was having super kinky sex when really she was only having…sex. But I am happy for this Carolyn. She was finally doing IT after years of thinking about IT before she knew what IT was. You can’t get that high back no matter how good IT gets down the line.

So please enjoy this, if you will, ‘vintage’ My Sex Project entry.

—-

November 17th, 2005

I need to get something off my chest. I swear I am not trying to be Christina Ricci from Prozac Nation and I swear I’m not doing this to feel indie, artsy, or cooler than I already am. That’s what my livejournal and myspace are for. I just think having my insane thoughts down in writing is better than in my head.

SEX!

I did it. I wrote it out and now I am going to talk about it. It always amazed and intrigued me even before I even experienced it. I would read my mom’s REDBOOK magazine and skip to the articles about sex tips. I didn’t know what it meant, but it made me feel racy. I’d sit in my basement and find an erotic novel. The ones with the big, muscular men on the cover. The ladies with flowing hair and some royal looking dress properly placed over all the “bad” body parts. They usually took place on some random island or a ship. I’d thumb through the pages until I found the ones with the sex scenes. I had to be no more than 12. Most likely younger.

Back in 7th grade my friend Connie told me redheads and Scorpios are supposed to be good in bed. I am both of these qualities. I don’t find myself to be good in bed though. I am still a trainee when it comes to the tricks of sex. I don’t know what else to do but lay there and I am too scared to try something else. But though I may not be the ultimate sex goddess, I do think my redhead Scorpio traits have made me obsessed with sex. I called it back in my senior year of high school. I said to my friends, I think when I finally have sex, I am going to want it all the time.

My first time was weird as was expected. I didn’t know it was coming. I wasn’t in love. I had no idea what to do. I don’t regret it all which I am thankful for, but it definitely did not fill me with the sexual energy and desire I have now.

One night while me and D* were a little drunk we stumbled upon an apartment. We were promised that in this apartment would be bowls and blunts galore. Like sneaky little stoners we crept ourselves into this apartment and sat with anticipation. There he was. Willy Wonka. Our provider of the green goddess was someone who had a great likeness to Willy Wonka. Blue eyes. Crazy hair. I died a little inside. Weed and Willy Wonka. The two loves of my life.

I confessed to him I had a thing for Gene Wilder and he looked like him. He didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or be offended. D reassured him it was a good thing. I clung on to his every word. “Do you want to see my cat do tricks?” My heavy, high head slowly nodded yes.

After we were blazed out of our minds we went the apartment next door. D was ferociously getting hit on by some drunk kid while me and Willy Wonka sat on a couch. We watched the attempts of this kid and laughed. The Candy Man leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Your friend is occupied. I’m going back to my place. You’re obviously invited.” And he was gone. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I was overcome with excitement and fright at returning to his apartment alone.

D calmed me down and said we’ll all go back together. So me, D, and drunk kid returned. A slight disappointment ran through me when his place was filled with people. We sat down and let ourselves become absorbed in our high. I had never wanted someone so bad in my life then at that very moment. So I tried to make it happen.

I did my girl thing and crept off to the bathroom. In the bathroom I didn’t pee or wash my hands or anything. I just stared at myself in the mirror freaking out thinking I need to make out with this guy. I prayed and wished and hoped that when I opened that door he would be there with the same idea in mind. I prepped myself and swung the door open. The darkness of the room overwhelmed me and I couldn’t see. He wasn’t there. I mouthed “fuck.” I took a step out and when my eyes fully readjusted to the darkness there was Wonka’s figure sitting on a couch in front of me. Again I died inside.

My giddy self sat down next to him. We exchanged words. Words I cannot remember. I do remember saying I had to make out with him. It finally happened. We made out and to this day it was the best makeout session of my life. My hair was in pig tails a choice of hairstyle I will never regret. He clung on to them and pulled me closer. I thought to myself, wow. Here’s a masturbatory fantasy I will never forget**. We exchanged numbers before I left then I sadly returned to my lonely dorm room.

That is the beginning of the end.

He crept into my thoughts all the time. When we met up again a week later I gave myself to him. I gave myself to him again before I left for Disney World. And then again. And then a little after that, again.

He’s a drug. Over the summer he would call me and leave voice mails. “Hey girrrrrrrrrl….” The whole situation was and is quite shady. I go there. We get high. I watch him and his friends play video games. They drop off one by one. We get busy. I leave. Rinse and repeat.

Every time on my drive home I say, that was the last time. This can’t be good for me. But then a week later I’d be sitting on the same couch, watching the same video games, thinking the same things on my drive home. I have never had that much action in my life. It got to the point where it was at least once a week. Amateur, yes, but that is a lot in my life. This is when the addiction set in. I needed it. I craved it. I got excited whenever it began. He skillfully led me into his bedroom and pulled off my skirt. He played with my breasts before even taking the shirt off so that when he finally did, my chest was filled with goosebumps. When he removed my shirt he brought my arms with him, pinning them down when the shirt was off. I had nowhere to go but there was nowhere else I wanted to go. This man was filled with skills and tricks up his sleeve.

Unfortunately I have never came with him. I have come close to it but never experienced the spasms of a full-fledged orgasm. This is not to say it was unenjoyable. Far from it. I still was naked with him and he still made my hands and feet go tingly.  

—-

I laughed so hard when I read that last paragraph. This amateur, erotic tale finalized by the harsh reality that this dude did not have my interests in mind and I was having Charlie horses instead of orgasms.

It’s obviously not the sex that sticks out for me about my time with Wonka. What was so sexy for me was the fact that it wasn’t some long drawn out, ‘Will they, won’t they?’ nonsense. I wanted something and I got it. My inner Veruca Salt who wants it now, who insists on pink macaroons and performing baboons, who deep down lives in all of us, was slowly but surely finding her voice.

—-

* one of my roommates
** I don’t still use this fantasy

A Very Brief (Silly) History of My Sex Project

One night as I laid in bed trying not to look at my phone, I thought about how I am a few months away from turning 33. I thought about how I was happily (I swear!) single and I thought about my apartment where I lived alone in New York. Well, Brooklyn but shush. I thought about my big, uneven closets filled with Payless shoes that make my heels bleed. And of course, I thought about my increasing interest in sex. Doing it, writing about it, talking about it. I smiled a dumb smile and thought, ‘Am I a discount Carrie Bradshaw?’

You right now: “Bitch. Did you really just compare yourself to Carrie ‘who gives a sh*t, this ain’t the aughts’ Bradshaw?” Maybe I did and maybe hear me out.

I was 13 at the start of Sex and the City. I didn’t have cable or a clue. I never even had a tongue in my mouth. Carrie who? But over the years, and as a direct result of tv syndication, I’ve definitely ‘accidentally’ watched the entire series. Now 32, living alone in New York, a writer of sorts figuring out her own views on love and sex, as dumb as it may be, it was hard not to make the comparison.

As I continued thinking about my alternate universe-Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle, another thing hit me. Carrie Bradshaw. Carolyn Busa. CB. How did I not realize I shared initials with one of New York’s greatest, fictitious sex experts? I broke my ‘no screens in bed’ rule for a quick 1am Google search: How old was Sarah Jessica Parker at the start of Sex and the City? Google revealed to me what I had been suspecting - she was 33. I felt a chill in the air…mainly because the AC was on but! The excitement was real.

I decided then and there: I am starting a sex blog. So what if it’s 2018? Here we are and here is my blog.

Welcome to My Sex Project. Where a single woman in her thirties with CB as her initials, who writes and lives alone in New York and (don’t forget) has big closets writes (with a sense of humor!) about her thoughts on love, her opinions on sex and her adventures with both. Move over CB, CB is in town!