Up until very recently, I was living with a seriously awful roommate. She was your typical passive aggressive person who refused to communicate and would let issues fester and fester until she would explode in a fit of pure crazy. One point of contention was my boyfriend. Roomie and I shared a big house, but boyfriend and I always kept to ourselves in my room. Of course, since boy and I are both pretty vivacious, we had sex regularly. We were pretty considerate, since the acoustics carried. We’d generally try to avoid doing anything when we knew she was home, or we’d blast the TV or our music, but she still couldn’t deal. (Going to the boy’s place wasn’t an option most of the time because his living situation was even more oppressive than mine.)

So, in an effort to be a decent roommate, I stopped having sex with my boyfriend, regularly, for almost six months. It wasn’t a total sex desert  — we went on a couple of trips during this time (hotel sex is amazeballs), and sometimes he’d go house-sit for his parents when they were out of town and I’d tag along. But, for the most part, my vag was closed for business.

At first, it was miserable. I was resentful and annoyed at my roommate, and frustrated that I couldn’t ravage my boyfriend any time I wanted — like, hello, isn’t that one of the perks of a relationship? But after a bit, I started to enjoy it. Sex can be stressful, especially as someone who is hypercritical, hypersensitive and obsessed with analyzing. I was always worried about my performance, about the way my body looked to him and, of course, the slight possibility of pregnancy or STDs lingered in the back of my head. Sex can also be too consuming — for me, between having it, thinking about it, reading about it and writing about it, sex was almost becoming a mundane chore. Though I do love sex and all the pleasure it brings, it also felt great to feel like my body was purely mine again. There is something about being naked in front of someone else all the time that starts to take a little bit of a toll on my autonomy. I went from going to the gym so I’m attractive for my boyfriend to going to the gym because I really love feeling strong and fit.  I went from looking at my body from a perspective of “How can I use this to please my boyfriend?” to “How can I take care of my body to the best of my ability?”  I am independent by nature, but sometimes I start to lose myself when I’m trying to connect to others.

The best part of my forced celibacy was that my relationship did not suffer at all. We remained just as close as we were when we were boning on the regular, we still did intimate things, and he still called me sexy and hot. Some people perceive “dry spells” as being the end of the world, and I’m pretty sure some people would think that a forced sex hiatus would be the ultimate death knell for a couple, but that was far from the case. It was a great opportunity to get reacquainted with myself (what can I say, I’m a bit selfish sometimes) and relieve myself of a little mental stress.

Close to her 30^th birthday, Anderson sees her ex-boyfriend from college (who she clearly had deep feelings for) walking hand-in-hand into De Beers with his then girlfriend, resulting in their engagement. This incident sparks her year-long contract with herself to remain sexually sober. Why? Because through the shock of her ex-beau’s engagement, Anderson realizes that after years and years of sex: “I’d had enough sex without love; maybe it was time to look for love without sex?”

While the concept for her sexual journey – questioning casual sex in today’s society – seems well-rooted, the delivery of this twelve month personal discovery falls flat. Flirting around topics, Anderson doesn’t really dive into anything; instead she chooses to dance from one thing to another in each chapter. For example, in the chapter “September or Dressing Around,” Anderson embarks on a less-sexualized wardrobe – so she buys a turtleneck. Instead of defining what new clothes will add to her year without sex, Anderson uses the chapter to discuss everything from shopping with boyfriends, high school fashion choices, and femininity. If all of these topics rolled into each other and told the story like it should be told, they wouldn’t seem out of place, but since they are strewn together – the story of her buying a turtleneck gets lost in the midst of everything else.

The entire novel falters at exploring anything too closely. It’s as if Anderson, who has since resumed having sex after the 12 months, didn’t really learn anything. Instead, she just decided to write a book and chronicle this experience that amounted to nothing in the end. If that was her plan, and it was just some lighthearted experiment, Anderson should admit it, instead of marketing Chastened as a life-changing experience for her.

All in all, readers will be scratching their heads at the end saying “What was so special about this?” Even though readers will want to cheer for Anderson to find what she’s look for – which is so clearly an intimate relationship beyond the bedroom – readers will also be questioning whether Anderson truly understood anything in the end.  Memoirs usually reach some grand conclusion, but Anderson seems to come full circle, back into herself – the same Anderson that took the vow to be sexless twelve months prior. Nothing’s changed.

Critics overwhelmingly have hounded Anderson for the flat line ending. However, the LA Times said it best: “As she resumes sex at the conclusion of the book, it’s still all about her, and it’s still loveless.” Ultimately, Chastened is truly an “unexpected story” that chronicles a year without sex for no real apparent overwhelming reason. Reading this memoir is like sitting on a train going nowhere fast  — it won’t get you anywhere.

Thank you to Viking Publishing for generously providing a review copy.

It wasn’t until I stopped having sex that I realized how sexualized everything has become. Every TV show, every movie, every magazine picture, and every song is some way related to sex. To quote Superbad, “You know what kinds of foods are shaped like dicks? The BEST kinds.” It’s true, phallic (and yonic) symbols are everywhere (and a lot more noticeable when you’re not getting laid) – thanks a lot for that, Freud.

I’m going through what some may call a dry spell. While that’s half-true, I’d like to say it’s more of a self-imposed period of celibacy. Spending the last month and a half in my hometown (where there are ZERO prospects, by the way) and slowly-but-surely losing faith in the male species has lead me to decide that making a conscious decision to take a break from sex will save me not only from sleeping around but also from making any spur-of-the-moment bad decisions.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it turns out that going without is not quite as easy as I first expected. Due to my current living situation, it hasn’t only been sex that’s been put on the back burner, but also masturbation and any other kind of physical intimacy (except for those nights when my best friend Emma lets me spoon her… that’s nice).

The thing is, as much as it sucks not getting laid in longer than I care to think about – there is a bit of power in deciding not to have sex. Unlike Josh Harnett in 40 Days and 40 Nights, this decision of mine hasn’t made me want to jump everything that moves. It’s actually made me be choosier about who I want to have sex with.

Maybe the problem in promiscuity lies not in the fact that people are having sex like crazy all of the time, but that we think we need to have sex like crazy all the time. This idea that we need to have sex on a regular basis to keep at bay our primal instinct to bone is the kind of mind set that leads to sleeping around and bad decisions.

I know it sounds like I’m being sex-negative here, but read any of my other articles and I assure you, that’s not the case whatsoever. All I’m saying that being sex-positive isn’t necessarily directly related to having sex. If there’s one thing we can control in our lives, it’s who we chose to have sex with (excluding violent, awful crimes).

So far, this plan has worked out okay for me (in that I haven’t imploded yet or anything). Taking a break from sex can be a good thing, really. And think on the bright side – after a sexy break, I can only imagine how great sex is going to be. Eventually I’ll find someone worthy enough to have that mind blowing back-in-the-game sex with, but for now, I’m okay with not getting any.

Although, some alone time would be nice…

Much like boat shoes, chambray and shortening words, celibacy is now officially trendy. You heard me: celibacy. Trendy. Totes. Lady Gaga and Courtney Love are doing it. Or, well, not doing it, I suppose. But it’s not only them. According to a new article in the New York Post, bands of women are going celibate, claiming it makes them happy.

One woman who went celibate said it enabled her to be attracted to a “different kind of guy” (maybe one who could actually, finally remember her name and, perhaps, even had a job?!). And that’s just one of the reasons celibacy may have such an optimistic, alluring attraction for all these women.  Here are 5 reasons I can imagine those chaste women are enjoying their celibate selves:

1. You can finally revert back to all those old habits you know think guys would never approve of – like late night eating.
I don’t know about you, but I always skip the late night pizza when I’ve got a guy in tow. And while a little late night nookie is always nice, I always wake up in the morning missing that slice (or 3) I didn’t have. But no sex = more pizza, and more pizza = happiness.

2. No more bikini waxes.
What’s the point? No one’s goin’ down there anyway.

3. The whole damn bed to yourself.
You mean you don’t have to fight for the covers, end up with the entire left side of your body tingling, or feel some guy’s morning “happiness” in your back when you wake up? Happy, happy, happy.

4. Boy problems can finally stop being THE topic of every conversation with your girlfriends.

5. No more Walks of Shame
Sure, the exercise is nice, but I think we can all agree we’d be better off without it.

While I totally see the appeal of chastity, I’m not sure I’m ready to dive in just yet. I may change my mind, however, after next week’s Brazilian appointment.

This is why even I wondered if I was slightly insane when I decided to completely abstain from boys this summer.

The decision (The Vow, as I now refer to it) was something I really had to think about. I knew that going home to Miami would mean I’d have options for a summer fling. Beautiful, jacked, sun-god-like options that seem to only exist in dreams. But, having been single for over three years, I needed a break.

I think that relationships, as amazing as they can be, sometimes just aren’t worth it. I’m incredibly busy, as are most college students, so I only want to make time in my life for someone if we have something I can’t imagine giving up. But while being single right now is best for me, it can be so exhausting. From wondering if the attractive guy digs me back to whether or not to be physical with a guy I may not have emotional connections with, I was just sick of it. So, to the surprise of my friends, I decided that for summer, I’d basically be like one of the nuns that taught me in grade school. Except I’d still curse and wear bikinis and stuff.

When people would ask my why I was doing this, I usually said something new-agey like “I just need some time to really be alone. I need to focus on myself.” And focus on myself I did. I took a mini road trip with one of my best friends to an amazing art exhibit. I re-read one of my favorite books that I haven’t read since junior year of high school. I started doing Pilates, which completely rejuvenated and calmed me. I surrounded myself with the carefree joy of children, and picked some of their confidence along the way.

Because of how much I love boys, sometimes my mind is completely consumed by thoughts of them, when it should be completely consumed with thoughts of  how to get straight A’s, make my friends feel extra special, or some other more important thing. I wanted to stop being that girl that thinks about guys that much.

I had a few really close calls to breaking The Vow. I’m pretty sure Oscar Wilde was talking about me when he said “I can resist everything but temptation.” I’d have these weird little moments where I’d think “Um, why am I doing this whole abstinence thing? That guy is totally hot and he totally wants me and I’m not going to do anything? Cause I ‘need to focus on myself’’?! Beezy, please.” But for the most part, I was fine. More than fine, actually. I got to know myself and was so happy to be single, because I was doing everything I wanted to do, without the concern of guys.

I experienced a lot during my summer without boys and I give myself a huge pat on the back for spending my last teenage completely on my own.

Now that I’m back on campus, I’ve somewhat gone back to my boy-crazy ways. (Asking me to stay away from boys is like asking Speidi not to do that annoying fake makeout thing when cameras are around – it ain’t gonna happen!) But that’s OK – I learned a lot about myself this summer and came away a deeper, self-aware and totally toned (thank you, Pilates) woman.

Don’t get me wrong– I like being single. I’m pretty independent. I can still study and interact with other humans. I function. But when it comes to the menfolk, I get easily distracted. And attempting to stay celibate in college is like asking Whitney Houston to get clean in a crack house. So, thinking that the best offense is a good defense, I’m using a plethora of methods to stay on track and focused.

These are the ones that didn’t work.

Fattening Food I started eating pizza every day. Like, a lot of pizza. There’s this place down the street from my house that serves whole pies for five dollars. (I get the “Oahu,” which is just fancy-pants for Hawaiian. Eating an entire pie in less than three minutes almost helps you forget you’re totally pathetic.) And the first few days I was feeling all blob-like and disgusting, but that’s actually passed. Because after a few weeks I’ve plumped up a bit, and now my skin glows (read: has a greasy sheen) from the extra calories. It kind of makes me want to have a baby. Which is bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Doogie Howser, M.D. Initially, I thought using viewings of Doogie Howser, M.D. on Hulu to stop thinking about dating was a great idea. I mean, the Doogster’s like the definition of innocence and purity. I was so, so wrong. Doogie Howser is really freaking earnest and adorable, and also kind of good looking in an (obviously) boyish way. I don’t care that he’s sixteen, or that our fictional relationship is very, very illegal. I want to be his date to the junior prom, and then I want him to give me an emergency appendectomy. And then I want to scrub myself with a wire brush for being such a perv.

Office Hours “Hey, Dr. McQueen. Can we talk about the upcoming exam for a little bit?” This is how it starts. This is how it ALWAYS starts. Because cute professors are still fun, but they’re off-limits. It’s like having only a bite of a chocolate bar — not harmful, and just enough to hold you over. And then you’re drinking too much and feeling a little restless, and then you’re leaving voicemails on Dr. McQueen’s work extension where you slur, “I’m not wearing any panties,” and then his wife is all “Who is this girl?” and then you’re having meetings with the Dean of Students, and then you’re forced to drop out of British Modern Lit because of the restraining order. It’s all very exhausting.

Knitting I saw this on Grey’s Anatomy. I think somewhere in the second (third?) season, Meredith uses knitting to distract herself from the fact that she can’t keep off McDreamy and every other random dude at Joe’s Bar. Her routine lasts maybe five minutes before she drops the yarn in favor of some loving. I should have learned from her mistakes. This is mostly because knitting is one of those things that only really cool artsy girls do (which I am not), and also because knitting needles are clearly phallic, and therefore unconsciously distracting. Knitting is also super boring. Mer didn’t stand a chance, and nor did I.

New ideas to help me stay off dudes this for this week: buying a cat, raking leaves, learning to juggle. We’ll see which ones work. Wish me luck.

Ladies, I’m sure you’ll agree with me: one of the most important aspects in any serious relationship is the sex. There’s no denying the physical and emotional needs for it, so what happens when you’re not getting any?  I had never anticipated being in a sexless relationship, so it came as a shock when my guy had a confession: he valued love and intimacy over the physical act of sex.

Right.

Naturally, it was a blow to my self-esteem. Was it me? Was I not sexy enough? Did the thought of me naked make his manhood shrivel with disgust?

This is where the ever-important “honesty” came in. I expressed my self-doubt to him, and he explained how he’d come out of a really bad long-term relationship and he wanted commitment, not just wild nights. Being the amazing, understanding girlfriend I am (yeah right), I supported his needs for an emotional connection.

It drove me crazy. I had no idea how to handle this situation. We were ridiculously into each other… just not literally. And after a while, it started to suck. Again…not in the way I wanted. What’s a girl to do? Well, buy a battery-operated buddy, to start.

After a while, though, I realized maybe we were (gasp!) better off sex free! How could I ever think that? For one, we had no need to worry about condoms or me missing my period. And we were really enjoying one another in a way I had never really known before. I even began to think that maybe sex was overrated.

Yes, I too thought I was losing my mind.

But as we spent more and more time together – without all the physical stuff – I realized that this was the real thing. There are so many more important aspects to our relationship. We have 6-year age gap, so we’re learning how to manage a real relationship outside of college, which I’ve found to be harder than dating someone on campus. It also taught me that intimacy doesn’t come from sex, it comes from being happy with what you have.

Would I recommend a sexless relationship? They’re not for everybody. Am I happy? Absolutely. What about you? Have any of you been in sex-free relationships?

The only thing that was worse than realizing some lady in pink scrubs got more intimate with me than a dude has in months was realizing just how many months it’s been — and having to say it out loud. See, for us single gals, going for your annual pap is a big, giant reminder of your past transgressions…or lack thereof. Have you slept with too many losers? Haven’t slept with anyone since the last full moon? Were you so drunk you can’t really remember if you used a condom or not? And how about your pubes…when was the last time you shaved or waxed?

I mean, all of those questions and more are answered when a girl goes to the gyno, and the answers aren’t always awesome. For instance, I realized I’ve been without sexy time for enough months to basically compile a year, and when the doc asked me when me last sexual encounter was, I let out this weird half-laugh, half-moan and cut my celibacy in half. I was embarrassed to tell my gynecologist about my empty sex life! Who am I?

Even though going through the gyno’s checklist can be embarrassing and eye-opening in the worst way, I suppose it’s important and necessary. I also suppose laughing about using condoms because you haven’t slept with anyone recently is better than crying because you have slept with people…and didn’t use them. And, I mean, if there’s anyone we need to be truly honest with, it’s our gyno, because they’re trained to answer these questions and there’s nothing in your vadge they haven’t seen before.

Okay, so next time, I won’t cut the time I’ve had sex in half. Hopefully, I won’t have to…but no matter what the case may be, being straight with your doc is the only way to keep yourself healthy and safe. It can be embarrassing, but after reading this article, hopefully you can rest assured that you’re not the only one who dreads answering the questions, has a hard time “relaxing” when that metal torture device goes where no metal device should go, and sprinkles a little baby powder before the visit…just to make things a little…fresher.

What? That last one is just me?

Exactly three months ago, I posted my first post here on CollegeCandy explaining to all of you that a guy I was dating, who told me I was his ‘soul mate’, would not sleep with me. We all came to various conclusions as to why he’d behave like this. I let it go. And now I’m back to fill you in on what has happened since I let it go.

He and I kept in loose contact after deciding to end things. Very loose.

Then, I got a text from him about 3 weeks ago, out of nowhere. He was all torn up inside because he had (drunkenly, of course) deduced that I now hated him. And it made him sad. He sorta fell apart in the series of texts that followed. I imagined him lying on his bathroom floor in the fetal position. Finally, still considering him a friend, I invited him to call me if he wanted to talk. And so he did. He called me and we talked for over an hour about how his life has been crumbling before his own eyes.

He still hadn’t had sex, apparently, with anyone.

One conversation led to another; we kept talking more and more.

That same week he got wasted and ended up sleeping with a girl…and didn’t even remember it. All of that celibacy down the drain – wasted on a blackout, instead of what would have been meaningful sex with me. (Not to mention, mind blowing, thankyouverymuch.)

And then it came out:

He still had the same feelings for me.

And he regretted not sleeping with me, but he just couldn’t, but now….now he could and can and will…if I ever let him get that close to me again.

Whaaaaaaaat?! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Part of me wanted to hang up the phone, drive over to his house and do what I had wanted to do since…well, ever. But another part, a louder and more insistent part, held back.

He really hurt me the first time around. He broke my heart.

Everything was so much easier and more exciting the first time around. It is always that way before the big breakup. It’s like you are overly passionate because you have nothing to lose and you are willing to gamble all or nothing. Now, however, my emotions aren’t on the line with him anymore. And I don’t wanna gamble. I’ve already played that game – and lost.

I’m not necessarily opposed to sex for the sake of sex with him…but should I even bother? Is this a safe road to go down (again)?

[photo from: craveonline.com]

“You know, if you wanted to have sex, all you have to do is….go have it.”

Over the years, I have learned that these guys are telling me the truth. As a reasonably attractive female who works out and eats right and has a body to show for it, finding a guy to have sex with hasn’t ever really been tough. Throw in the fact that I’m more intelligent than a lot of girls I meet and definitely more laid back…and lets just say that the sex in my life should be plentiful. But it’s not.

A friend was asking me about this yesterday. He finally came to a conclusion:

“You know what? You just don’t give a f*ck. Cause if you gave a f*ck, you’d be having sex.”

And I realized, just like that, that he was right. I keep complaining about the fact that I’m not meeting guys who I want to be physical with, but lets face it, I’m probably not trying.

And if you’re a reasonably attractive and intelligent girl out there feeling a little unlucky with sex lately, the deal is probably the same for you. I hate to say it ladies, but guys don’t have a lot of standards about who they’ll sleep with. If you’re not getting laid, you probably just don’t want to — at least with the prospects you currently have.