Overcoming Natural Disaster

My arms?

My legs?

I lifted my neck from my pillow

Still there?

Still there!

The pain, the numbness, the muscle tenderness, and the inability to focus my eye sight on the handle of my bathroom door in front of me. The inability to remember the first letter of my name…

Wait… WHAT?!

I turned my head to the left looking for hints.

My cell phone is on my dresser connected to the charger. Good to know that even if I was possibly roofied last night, I had enough brain power left to remember my cell phone’s battery needed recharging.

The human brain amazes me.

Now to the right…

My clothes are lying in the corner of my room and there are no empty water bottles or glasses around.

Now, focus.

It’s not a hangover…

Opposing the physical pain of all the joints, bones and muscles of my body, my digestive system was feeling amazingly refreshed and no nausea was present.

I think I am ready for the diagnosis… I knew Business was the wrong route for me; I should have gotten into debt by following a different path such as med school.

It is post-sex pain - House agreed.

But not just regular sex…Sex so intense your body decided that the time has come for the caterpillar that it is to shrivel up into a cocoon and turn itself into a butterfly.

After all, sex does clear the skin and balance out the hormones. Maybe I will have a glow so bright about me that passing cars will be yelling “STUPID BITCH TURN OFF YOUR HIGH BEAMS!”” at me.

Now that’s the good kind of glow.

So I guess this transformation doesn’t come for free. It comes with growing pains.

Once I figured out the source of my body’s confusion, my puzzled brain was slowly coming together piece by piece.

Last night… Berlin’s wall has fallen down. . .

I have been suffering from incredible drought for the past few months. Sexual conquests were nowhere to be found. I felt like a lonely lioness in a savannah of boney zebras.

The situation started becoming worse when I would purposely find an excuse to take public transportation. Every pot hole equated to a droplet of rain on my ever dying crop. If we went over train tracks, I felt like I was seeing a mirage of a pond in a dry desert, welcoming it with open arms filled with hope, for only short few seconds, before my senses squared off and sent a signal to my brain to bitch slap me.

Why is it that when I’m single there are no prospects around? And when I start getting involved with someone suddenly a lineup of eligible bachelors forms outside my door, as if The Bay was having a sale and all the patio furniture was now half off… I guess my milkshake really does bring all the boys to the yard.

Did all my booty calls gather together to form an event called “Do not fuck Anna“ and everyone ended up RSVPing for the next season or so?!

Lack of sex made me crazy. I usually don’t mind public display of affection, but I started noticing myself curse under my breath every time someone would even kiss in front of me. I even found myself giving a cut eye to a mother kissing her child on the forehead, before sending him off to school. I’ve officially graduated the Loony U. with my graduate hat and my straight jacket.

A lot of virgins don’t understand this, but once you’ve had the sweet nectar of the sexual organ of your preference... for me it’s COCK. Duh?!
It’s hard to go on a master cleanse. I’m not a saint; I’m just a horny white suburban girl that sometimes donates to charities.

I know they say that forgiving and forgetting is the best, but I’ve always been the type that found it hard to forget.

Cock is imprinted in my brain like Monroe’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and Lindsay’s DIU’s on her record.

My drought unlike Kenya’s did come to an end.

Adjusting to sex after a drought made me feel like the sunken Titanic in the Atlantic. Not even the Mexican oil spill could lubricate its cylinders to make them functional again.

BUT I HAVE PREVAILED!

Even though it did feel like physiotherapy, I was able to saddle up on Seabiscuit and take him for a proper ride.

So this is how I ended up spending the rest of my Sunday morning reminiscing about your cock. Don’t get too flattered, I know I said it was intense....
But if this night happened during a regular season and not during my off season, it would have felt as mediocre as Obama’s speeches.

I guess you did an okay job?

Here’s a carrot.