In the spirit of being a post-grad and in lieu of the New Year, I have decided to jump start 2011 in a major way. I’m moving. Again.

As you may remember in May, I decided I need a change of pace and new scenery after graduation, which lead me to the Golden Coast of California. While so many good things happened for me out there (especially in the midst of LSAT prep), it wasn’t what I was looking for. In fact, a lot more was pushed upon my plate than I ever intended or imagined.

While a lot of people in my day-to-day life think I’m crazy for the flip-flop, and many people think “Why would you move away from being so close to LA to go back to the Southeast?” I have to do what is best for me – like any post-grad, college student, or human being should. When I tell people that I’m moving back, they immediately think “It didn’t work out for her” or “It was too hard.” And then some think this was just some minor decision I’ve made without any consideration at all.

Surprise! It’s not. There’s always more to the story.

Just as most post-grads do, we dream up our lives after college. And then if those dreams and ideal images don’t fit into the picture perfect box of hopeful life-after-college expectations, we do what we can to alter them. While I have done everything I can do to keep up with my dreams and expectations, I’ve had a lot of other stuff I never asked for fall onto my plate. See, I moved in with my dad – who is an alcoholic. And with that came tons of things I wasn’t prepared to handle. Every day it seemed like something new would happen or some kind of drama would ensue. Every day I find myself worried about what could happen. And I’ve had enough.

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I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to sex, I’m not going to lie. I love to experiment with men that I’m serious about and whom I trust, and I’m not opposed to an adventurous fling either. However, I have a confession: I might be open to hair-pulling, spanking, and playing dress-up, and there’s probably nothing that could come out of a guy’s mouth that would be dirty enough to make me blush… but I do not let men go down on me.

Take a minute. Catch your breath. Reread if you don’t believe it.

I’m sorry, but I’ve never enjoyed oral sex. I have no problem doling it out, but there are only a couple of men whom I’ve allowed to walk the red carpet, and they’ve only had the privilege on rare occasions.

My aversion to cunnilingus, I feel, stems from low self esteem and a rather horrific first time. I was shy and inexperienced, and losing my virginity was no Cinderella story. After that, it was a long time before I had vaginal sex again, but I did dole out my fair share of blow jobs. Go figure.

Looking back, I think it was a control issue. I had little control over my first time, and to me, going down on a guy was controlling. I was calling the shots. I could get him off. He was the one lying on the bed, losing his mind to ecstatic climax (sorry, I am damn good at fellatio). With regular sex, I felt like the power was equal. My partner and I were both simultaneously trying to please the other, while experiencing our own euphoric physical feelings. It was okay to give away my body, because it was a fair trade

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I’ve been attending a yoga class at the gym. I joined it so I could learn to get in touch with myself and relax and destress after a long day. I’m not really sure when I got out of touch with myself, but it sounds very zen and enlightened to say things like, “I just want to back in touch with myself.” And when people ask me if I like it, I just nod and tell them it’s nice to get back in touch with myself.

They look at me with jealousy because everyone would like to be in touch with themselves.

I’ve learned a lot since getting in touch with myself. Like I’ve learned that I lack flexibility. So instead of becoming destressed and relaxed I’ve become very stressed and unrelaxed. If I had never signed up for Yoga, I never would have learned that I’m incapable of doing a simple Downward Dog, nor would I know that my body refuses to do an appropriate Serpent.

I can’t even think about the failure that was Praying Possum.

My yoga teacher often comes up behind me, presses on various parts of my body, and says things like, “tell your calf muscle it’s safe and it’s ok to relax,” as if talking to my calf muscle will suddenly let me place it behind my ear. I mean, I definitely tried while the whole class looked on waiting to see how well I could communicate safety to my calf muscle. I haven’t been that embarrassed in front of a class since I confused organism with orgasm in 6th grade. Read More »