Blog Posts by Andrea Frazer, Good Housekeeping

Today I had a long chat with a friend about Rex. I was bitterly disappointed about an upcoming vacation that has to be canceled due to a work trip. And while I know I'm darn lucky to have a husband who makes the income that he does, the more-than-exhausted mama in me was crushed about our excitement being dashed.

It was as if this one thread in our marriage ball made all the good stuff unravel until all I was left with was a knotted up pile of complain-y/poor me yarn. "He's not social enough!" I whined. "I'm sick of his work taking him away from us! His endless talk of budgets! Would it really kill us to go on an impromptu beach outing one sunny Saturday afternoon?" Apparently, it might. I mean, really, Rex's penis might just fall off and never, ever grow back. That's how allergic Rex is to last minute change.

I don't believe in bad mouthing my husband. Well, unless you count this Good Housekeeping blog that's read by so many people that it's syndicated on Yahoo Shine.

There was recently a post on Shine about the benefits of open marriage. I figured I'd take some heat and be honest with all of you readers about my own marriage. You, see, mine is an open marriage also.

Here are the top ten reasons why I like being in an open union with my mate of ten years:

1. By remaining open emotionally, we are able to grow - even during the rough patches.

2. By staying open in the honesty department, we don't have to worry about what another is thinking.

3. The door to our sex life is open and always swinging off the hinges. We're able to enjoy it because we don't need to worry about someone else, or some STD, usurping that honor.

4. We are open with our words: "I am so mad at you today I could just kick you to the curb."

5. We are open with our forgiveness: "I'm sorry that I ruined your birthday. I completely suck. I want to make it up to you."

6. We are open with our laughter.

7. We are open about our imperfections.

8.

Rex turned 39 on Friday. My husband, as you readers have probably figured out, is a pretty understated kind of guy. The time I threw him a surprise luau? That went over about as well as my landlord appreciated the lawn chairs and tables littering the driveway to his walk-up apartment complex.

I learned, a little too late, that there's a lovely middle ground between not making a fuss and doing practically nothing. I ordered pizza - a rare treat for us boring healthy eaters. The kids made him a card and we sang our little hearts out to him the moment he walked in the door.

But... there was no pistachio ice-cream. (His favorite.) There was no additional home-made goodies. (A nice salad with fresh tomatoes and dressing? Nope.) The look on his face when he thought I was bringing out a kid-created angel food cake and his crabby wife plopped 2 pre-made chocolate lava cakes on the center of the table? Eeeeeeckkkhhhh. Heart wrenching.

The night, honestly, sucked. To my

I had a rough couple of weeks. Like an experienced hiker, I'm slowly crawling up the mountain back to the pinnacle.

As I type this, it's no wonder life sometimes hits me hard. God forbid I walk on flat ground, enjoying the average scenary. Oh, no... every day I must reach the highest summit in order to fully experience all life has to offer! Anything less than high altitude is a failure. Why can't I just be like normal people? "Hey, there's a bird! Check out its wings - they're kind of different than those red ones from last year. Let's look them up on the internet and check out any new migration patterns."

Oh, no. I have to be the one that sweats and lunges and makes it more difficult than it needs to be. Let's not forget that I have to do it fast and I have to do it right. There is no time for rest. Every moment is optimized.

This kind of ambitious personality gets a lot done. But on occasion, say I forget a water bottle. Well, then... my little uphill climb

Rex and I used to fight all the time. Usually it was about really stupid stuff, too. "Who left the door open?" or "What do you mean you don't want to go to that party?" or "You schtupped that hooker again?" (Kidding about that last one.)

Now? We rarely argue. It's not that we're so perfect. It's just that we already know how it's going to end, so why bother getting all heated up? (I could say the same logic applies to passionate sex, but that's completely different.) My organized husband will never be able to roll with toast instead of cereal in the morning. His fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants-wife will never understand why he can't be more flexible with his morning routine. What's a few days a month without Cheerios or milk?

Our goal now is to do our best to help each other out, but when either of us messes up/misses the boat, we just smile and move on. Or, if we don't smile, we at least don't make a big deal about it.

This article talks about 5 Ways to Avoid a Fight.

It's been a week since my last cranky pants post. For someone who writes almost every day, either here or here, that's quite a hiatus. I suppose, like all of us, I needed some time to breathe.

For a lack of a better term, I hit the apex of a spiritual crisis that was a long time coming. I knew where I stood on the God question. (Yes, I believe in Him.) I knew that my husband had no need for a community or church that had similar ideals. (That hasn't changed.) But the organization I had been raised in finally stopped working for me.

Last Sunday, I did something seemingly out of left field, but what was really a long time coming: I left my conservative place of worship to join a more progressive community. It was liberating. It was exhilarating. But it was also quite frightening. Change, after all, can spawn tremendous growth. But it's also scary as hell.

You might wonder what religion has to do with marriage. In my case, it has everything to do with it. I am able to

Greetings from Cranky Pants, California!

I am writing to wish you a good night.

Actually, that's a bold face lie because this night is far from good. The truth is, I don't feel like writing at all.

But it's my job.

And rather than gild the lillies and pretend that everything is hunky dory in my sex, love and personal life, I'm going to lay it on the line since my husband has not had something laid on the line in a few days: This week blew chunks.

I know I sound like Debbie Downer. (Rex only wishes I were Debbie Downer - in the good way. Perhaps one of you can send me a clever letter about your rockin' sex life and I can post it up tomorrow? That would likely be far more entertaining than my ramblings this evening.)

I am aware I sound whiney and pathetic.

I know that many of you don't have husbands or jobs or sex lives at all which makes me a miserable twit.

Perhaps I need therapy.

Perhaps I need a glass of wine.

Perhaps I need to nose dive

Someone wrote me last week about wanting to role play. Her husband is a missionary style guy. She is really interested in trying some new positions, but she's embarrassed to broach the subject. My advice would have gone along the lines of, "Hey, if you want wear costumes, wait until a few days after Halloween. You can get that naughty nurse, cheerleader and prep school outfit for 80% off!"

But since discount options weren't really what my reader was looking for, I decided to refer her to Yvonne Fulbright, Ph.D., M.S.Ed.. Yvonne is the author of Sultry Sex Talk to Seduce Any Lover and writes about many other taboo subjects at her website, Sexual Fusion.

Here's a few tips (no pun intended) from Yvonne on how to bring up (again, no pun intended) an uncomfortable topic.

"She could broach the subject by bringing a sex book to bed for mutual enjoyment. Looking at the pictures and reading about what can be explored safely opens the door to discussions on sexual curiosities