let's talk about sex. and the reason that i'm not having any.

My mother reads this blog.

As does my mother-in-law.

Therefore, I have changed this post into under-fifty speak. Sorry to all of my old seasoned readers-- it had to be done to protect our family.

When discussing the haps of pregnaphobia, it always goes back to one thing. Well, two things, actually . . . One: a lack of birth control method. Two: a lack of mojo.

Here's the gist: six weeks after popping out our identical tax deductions, I had a choice to make. Which brand is going to keep us from getting the worst STD ever? Not HIV, fools, I'm talking about impregnation.

I have tried so many different methods of protection. They all lessen me to a mere bumbling birth control casualty. Some make me crazy. Some make me hungry. Some even make me spontaneously vomit at the sight of my husband. Granted, THAT IS THE EPITOME OF BIRTH CONTROL, it is not conducive to our quest toward bareback legandry. Because, let's face it, when condomplating, all married couples are in the same boat. We are all avid Condomists. We all have friends that practiced the "pull-out" method . . . and all of those friends have children. Of course, you could always be into butt burglary-- but I, being a model of grace and modesty, am not. Which is why finding the perfect birth control method is so important.

My OBGYN recommended that I try Mirena-- you know, the levonorgestrel-releasing intrauterine system that is inserted into your uterus and stakes camp until your children are in Kindergarten? Yeh, that one. I told her of the horror stories of EVERY WOMAN THAT I'D EVER KNOWN that had tried Mirena. She was so convincing, this doctor that threatened the psych ward a month prior, so persuasive, that I scheduled the insertion . . . only to have my insurance decline coverage for this method. All eight hundred dollars of it. And so, my dear homies, I am bumping shoulders with Bristol Palin and The Blessed Virgin by choosing to forgo bumping uglies altogether. It is, after all, the single most effective form of birth control.

PROBLEM? My husband is stuck with me. Forever. And while I am still in a fog of post-traumatic stress due to a small event that changed my life over a year ago WHEN I ALMOST DIED, I have to face the reality that human beings should have sex. At least once a month, right? Even once a year could be a desirable goal. And if, by chance, I were to get completely plastered and not feel like crying beside of an unmade bed, we would always have to revert back to numero uno: get strapped with protection or strapped with, um, another tax deduction.

I know that I am not alone in this tragedy. I am not the only woman that has had children and not wanted more . . . Advice, please, anyone? That's right, I want to know your story. Your method. What has or hasn't worked for you. Unless you're into Dirty Sanchez', Steam Rolling and Hot Carls. In that case, keep your comments to your nasty self.