This is a major overshare, and for that I apologize.But I'm currently in the biggest cold streak of my sexual career, and it's really starting to bug. Today marks the 125th day since I got any, and that is pretty much the absolute longest its been in the entirety of my life.
Well except for the mumble-mumble years I spent as a virgin, which so obviously doesn't count.
Now. I'm no spring chicken. If I were still 22 I'd just head out to a bar and grab the first warm body I could find. But as a lady (snerk) of 27, I am not really feeling the need to do that.
Yet.
It's kind of like how I never had the good sense to be afraid of living alone, until recently, when I've been on an "I'm definitely going to get murdered" riff and have been doing things like buying pepper spray for my nightstand and putting a big 2x4 in the track of my balcony door and checking every closet and behind the shower curtain before I go to bed. I guess I'm not putting enough faith in the cats as a security system....
A person who does these things isn't likely to be taking some stranger home from the bar all willy-nilly. But. Um, yeah. Talk to me at Day 250, I may have to sing a different tune.
Or maybe...get a new boyfriend? A hooker? A male Real Doll? A mail-order husband from Kazakhstan? Hm.
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