Bring the Sex Back!

It's finally happened, the honeymoon is over, the cystitis has cleared up, and the cats are enjoying permanent residence in the bed. You wake up on Sunday morning when the light starts streaming in, look over at your girlfriend with adoration and maybe just the slightest touch of irritation that she smells like beer and smoke, and you realize you haven't had sex since before your last period.

"What's happened to our sex life," you think to yourself. Sure, you're legs have eight days of stubble and your roots need a touch-up but you're still looking good. And your girlfriend's bike messenger job at the all-lesbian bike messenger company, Lickety Split, has given her legs like Serena Williams. So what's the problem? Why aren't you still humping like frenzied bonobos, while your cats starve and the laundry piles up?

Part of the problem is your schedules don't match up. Your shift at the vegan bakery starts at dawn; so you end up padding off to bed in sweats right after dinner. There's no way around it; those forty-something moms in organic hemp yoga pants are going to need their gluten free, vegan scones on the way to their 6 a.m. pre-natal massage classes.

Your girlfriend, on the other hand, stays up drinking Pabst out of the can and surfing X-tube until the wee hours. And why not? Her delivery shift doesn't start until mid-afternoon. If things stay like this you'll have cobwebs in your coochie by the time you guys get your swerve on again.

You still love each other, but you're starting to feel that dreaded bed death creeping in. LBD happens to the best of us. Every moment of free time is spent on runs to Target for light bulbs and Swiffer refills. It's too cold to wear lingerie to bed but every time she sees you in sweats she says you look like her mom.

Don't give up just yet. As long as you haven't started flirting with anyone else, and you're not secretly lining up that blue haired girl you always see at the heath food store, this marriage can be saved. It just takes a few simple steps to get yourself a day long booty-call, one that will remind you both of how much you used to bang, and bring some of that scissor-kickin magic back.

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First of all, find a little bit of time to yourself, even if it means hiding out at a friend's house, to tart yourself up. Do your nails. Even if you're butch; you don't have to paint them fuck-me red, but filing them and doing something about your cuticles is appropriate. You're a lesbian, remember? Sexy hands are like secret weapons.

Then, figure out what her next day off is and make sure you get that day off too, even if it means calling in sick. If you're going to have to call in sick, make sure you look like hell at work the day before. Smudge a little brown eyeshadow under your eyes for a tired, worn-out look and slump around the office saying you hope you aren't coming down with something and maybe throw in a story about your neighbor's kid having swine flu.

Then on booty-call day, wake up before her and slip into your sexiest bed wear, something lacy and revealing or boxers and a tank top, but not your latex nurse uniform, it might be too obvious. If you're femme, douse your self in Anais, Anais, it will remind her of all the straight girls she was crushed out on in high school. Butches should go for Old Spice, it's like catnip for femmes.

Then put your glasses on, go get your laptop, and start reading the New York Times online. That's the important part.

When she wakes up, say good morning, kiss her sweetly, and lie back against the pillows in your revealing apparel, smelling of sex and high school and completely ignore her. Just ignore her. If you must talk, mention the news, or read her a review of Sarah Palin's new book. She'll get cognitive dissonance from seeing you look and smell like sex, but acting like it couldn't be further from your mind. Next thing you know, she's Going Rogue and mission secret sex day is a success. Make sure to bone her enough to make it stick. If you get it right, she'll be thinking about it all week. Soon the laundry will start piling up and the cats will go hungry, and everything will be fine.

Read more of Diana's musings here.