In my stand-up routine I often complain of the eons it has been since I last had sex. Unless, of course, I have sex. Then I must wait a few weeks until the complaints can be reintroduced. That’s not true. I’ll actually still complain the next day because it makes for good material. Unless I actually threw my legs in the air for someone in the audience that night (has happened), they are none the wiser.
After I announce to anywhere from 6 to 600 people that I believe I am re-virginizing, I always get the promiscuous queen who is appalled by the notion of my “failures.”
“Girl, you should be having so much sex!” She says as she keeps one eye on me and the other does predator-like scans of the room.
It’s true. I have friends who seem to merely step one foot into a bar, and then BAM! It’s time to wash the sheets again. I hit up my shares of bars with beautiful men, but usually leave for taco bell rather than someone’s boudoir. I have a friend who’s still looking for love, though he had sex 297 times last year. Sometimes I wonder if the notches on his bedpost are literal. Otherwise who on Earth could keep track?
I’ve discovered that when it comes to random sex, I’m neurotic. First, there’s attraction. That’s the easy part. You like him, you go for him. Then there’s the opportunity for him to turn you off by speaking. He could sound like a douche who’s had too many steroid shakes for breakfast. Or he may sound Fran Drescher on a drunk bender. I mean, I love Fran. I don’t want to boink her.
Then should he pass the speech test, there’s the sex concerns. Does he have a boyfriend? Do I care? Is he scouting out a third for his boyfriend and he? Do I care? What position will I be in? Am I ready to do certain positions? (If you don’t know what that means, you don’t want to).
How far away does he live? It’s true. That’s a concern. I followed a guy once after a bar…pretty hot…until we got to Wilshire and Santa Monica. As he turned to go into Westwood, I made a U-turn.
If he comes to my place, will I want him to stay or go? One time I took a guy home who seemed quite normal, and the next morning I was ready to start my day. I got up. I made coffee for him and me. I picked up clothes. He stayed in bed for what seemed like days. It wasn’t until I broke out the vacuum cleaner that he finally took the hint and left. And I never vacuum.
Friends wonder why I often flirt with the partners I’ve already gone for a romp with before. Simple. I know what I’m going to get. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t be interested. I guess in some ways I am like my friend, Matt. He always orders the Chicken Piccata. It’s delicious, but there are so many other savory dishes on the menu. He knows he likes that one, so why give the Steak Frites a chance to disappoint him?
So what I’m saying is, I welcome your suggestions for getting out of my head and into someone else’s bed.
In the meantime, 297 will only be a number used when talking about my credit score.
love and overstaying your welcome,