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.

We live in an age of Intervention, Lindsay Lohan’s rehab stints, and constant talk about addictions. It’s life – seriously, who doesn’t know someone who is struggling or once struggled with an addiction? But like anyone who has ever loved someone with an addiction or some kind of life-altering problem, it’s not easy trek – and I’m done. I’m 22, and as much as I want to fix and help my dad, I can’t.

So with the New Year to look towards, I think it’s time for me to put my best shoes on and hit the road once again to see what else is in store for me (especially once those damn LSAT scores come out – yes, I’m still waiting)!

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

I told myself I was like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. You know, the prostitute that doesn’t kiss on the lips because she has to save something to prove her feelings when she finally falls in love. I had boyfriends, and I was sexually active, but I knew that I wanted to save something for the first time I fell in love. And since I was most insecure with being eaten out, cunnilingus became my “kiss on the lips.”

However, eventually I overcame whatever traumas I dealt with when I first started experimenting. And I finally found the man I was comfortable enough with to allow him to explore the depths that no man had gone before. And… it was disappointing.

For the ladies who have received mind-blowing oral sex, I’m sure you are shaking your head, thinking of all of the wonderful orgasms you’ve had thanks to a few flicks of the tongue. But for me, it’s just not arousing. I think it’s way hotter to feel my partner’s body in tandem with my own, being able to touch him and feel his heart beating next to mine. Lying there, letting him try to get me off and knowing it’s not that great for him just doesn’t do it.

I’m not saying I’m opposed, and I’m sure there will be other serious boyfriends who can try to get me off orally. But it’s not something I am longing for, nor is it something I’m missing in my life. I’d rather ride on top any day.

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.

The only reason I go to the class is for the last five minutes. For the first 55 minutes we do positions that I think are made up as we go along. The teacher simply puts an adverb in front of an animal and, before you know it, I’m doing the Sleepy Bovine and Sad Chicken positions. But for the last five minutes she instructs us to lay back on the mat and let go of all our tensions, our stresses, and our heartaches.

I’m a college student taking a yoga class midday, so you can only imagine the kinds of tensions, stresses, and heartaches that I have.

But the lights are off and there’s some kind of Enya Remix playing in the background and it’s the only class where I’m encouraged to fall asleep. And the best part is that it’s not called falling asleep. It’s called getting in touch with yourself.