The Love Drug

No. I'm not talking about X or Molly or Adam or whatever cocktail of feel-good amphetamines has hit the street. I'm talking about oxytocin. Don't think hormones are a drug? You've got another think coming. Go ask your local pharmacist. They'll set you straight. Random fact: testosterone is a schedule III controlled substance. But even the all-powerful, man-making hormone can't compare to oxytocin. It's hands down the most powerful substance on the planet.

It's responsible for sweet and innocent things like bonding a mother to her child or spouses to one another. But where there is the power to do the most good lies also the power to do the most harm. The love drug can bond a person to an abusive partner, it can lead to murderous rage and jealousy, and is definitely a factor in sex addiction. Oxytocin makes raving addicts of us all.

Why am I waxing philosophical about the hormone soup that explodes when one takes a new lover? Well, it's because I've done just that. Mama's got a brand new bag.

My brain (and other body parts) are lit up like a Christmas tree. No, like the Griswold house during Christmas vacation. It's a feeling I never thought I would experience again. However, now that I'm wrapped in cotton candy, feeling as though I shit glitter, I find myself hating the whole idea of love. 

Whaaaa?! Hate the idea of love, Cindy? Do you also kick puppies and trample on wildflowers? Of course not and never intentionally. Love, on the other hand, can suck my c....well, you know. My apologies to Ms. Turner, but she's right: love is just a secondhand emotion. And I ain't looking for no sloppy seconds. An I-come-you-go kind of situation sounds like heaven. Neat, sorted, uncomplicated. I know, I know. That's not the title of my blog. 

So, when looking for only a good lay, what does love got to do...got to do with it? Why are sex and that intoxicating feeling of being all booed-up so difficult to separate? What turns us all into Unikitty after we come? Motherfucking oxytocin.

I just got out of a long relationship predicated almost solely on our addiction to the love drug. But what's a gal to do when biological imperatives rear their ugly heads? Sure, vibrators serve a purpose, but they do not feed that baser need for warmth, connection, and hot sweaty animal sex.

Can one get a little somethin'-somethin' without turning into a junkie? Is it possible to get your rocks off without despairing every time he says he's too busy to chat? Is there a way to have my sex-cake without drinking the oxytocin-Kool Aid? (How about that mixed metaphor?) I really don't know, but I'm going to find out.

Stay tuned my friends. More on my quest later in the week. Same boss time. Same boss channel.

Namaste,
Cindy