Fridays kill me. On the one hand I want nothing more than to head to the bar to drink away another long week (and simultaneously avoid creepers), but then I’m so tired I can barely get off the couch. It’s like no amount of coffee/Red Bull can motivate me to put down the Cosmo (magazine) and trade it in for a Cosmo (drink).

Maybe that can explain why I’m about ready to hump a vacuum. But my lack of booty isn’t all bad; I’m saving tons of money on birth control, which is a way overpriced on campus. And I don’t have to worry about getting an STD from some un-cut rando, or having to fake it with a lousy one.  Oh, and it gives me plenty of time to do those things that I could never do when I had a man.

I have too much crap to do to get into a relationship, anyway (unless he’s interested). Plus, what’s the point? Technology is going to ruin it. Even if having a boyfriend could save me money, I’d rather save it in other ways.

So I guess I’m fine with staying in tonight. I’ll just pop in a DVD, play some video games, order in some Thai food and catch up on all that crap I was too lazy to do all week. Like spot treatments for my zits and making that much needed gyno appointment. Now doesn’t that sound like fun!?

It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten some. A long while. A length of time I’d rather not reflect on. A time filled with evenings spent indulging in sweet snacks and crappy pizza delivery to fill a void in my life, my bed and my….well, you know. But as much as I would prefer booty to breadsticks (even with ranch), it just hasn’t been my time.

Dear god, what have I done to deserve this?!

I’ve been getting rather desperate and even considered drinking alone at a bar last night in order to muster up the courage to bring someone (ANYONE) home. Then I turned on a rerun of The Millionaire Matchmaker, lost my motivation to leave the house, and “took care of things” on my own instead. Again. For the 5th night in a row.

So I can totally understand the desperation and downright carnal need of this Michigan man who was caught and sentenced to 90 days in prison for having sex with (yes, with) a car wash vacuum. Long stretches without any lovin’ can make anyone go crazy…and find vacuums attractive. He just needed to get some, dammit! (And he’d know that “lady” wouldn’t spit… Too far? My bad.)

Anyways, while I can see where this guy was comin’ from, I just hope to god that my personal spell of dryness ends before I find myself spending my nights humping the washing machine in my dorm’s laundry room. Pray for me.