Knit one, purl one...

Several things have happened this week, all of which have lead me to conclude one thing : I need to get laid.

As I mentioned in my previous post, a significant amount of time has passed since I last had a roll in the hay. I probably shouldn't use the word 'significant', since this suggests that, prior to that time, I was swimming around in a vat of women. I wasn't. Although, as a side note, if anyone owns their own swimming pool, I would quite like to try that.

Currently, the future of my nether-regions looks pretty bleak. I have no girlfriend, no love interest (mutual, that is), and all of the attractive women I know are either in relationships, or are that particularly volitile breed of lesbian, who I refuse to show any interest in, for fear they will confesss their undying love for me after two weeks, and shave my initials into their pubic hair.

The problem is, my need for a bit of how's-your-father has never been greater. This I can conclude from three and a half things...

One. I am really getting into DIY. In the last three weeks, I have painted the fixtures in my bathroom, my piano, and my wall. Last week I even started designing a custom-fit MDF rack for an awkward space next to my shower. If peeling the labels off beer bottles is number 5 on the 'Sexual Frustration' scale, this is about 52.

Two. While attending a recent 'Fuel Girls' event at the Den in Holborn, I got so excited at the prospect of seeing boobies that I nearly vomitted, and had to spend over half an hour in the loo being wiped down with cold paper towels by the toilet attendant.

Three. All my dreams end in sex, regardless of their content. I could be dreaming about going to the denist, or being in the Wizard of Oz, but I can gurantee, at some point, someone's getting mounted. This means that over the last month, I have had sex with my denist, Judy Garland, my old singing teacher, my best friend Jenna, and Jane Lynch, who plays Joyce in the L Word. In my mind.

Three point one. I have started to find Jane Lynch, who plays Joyce in the L Word, attractive. Hot even. She is 3 years younger than my mum. That is some kind of wrong.

Obviously, the easy answer to my problem is to get a friggin' lady-friend. But I fear, with things the way they are, women will be able to smell the desperation on me like a particualr funky cologne (funky as in stinky, not as in Prince. If I smelt like Prince I would be sorted).

In order to pull successfully, I have to stop thinking like a pervert. So, I will do as any middle-class woman would do in my situation - I will take up a hobby, and immerse myself in it until I forget I have a vagina. There isn't much more room in my flat for DIY, so I think a domestic hobby, like sewing or knitting might be a good plan. Maybe I can knit myself a woman, who will keep me warm at night and not insist on talking through Waking the Dead.






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*cough*