I never understood why the suicide rate was at its peak on Christmas.  I personally am always ready to end it all afterwards.  What do I possibly have to look forward to now?

I’ve given up on the search for love.  When my Mother was young she always dreamt of being a recluse writer living inna lil cottage high atop the hills of Carmel.  I honestly believe I will be the one to fulfill her dream.

I had damn high hopes this Christmas season of finding someone of the male species to spend time with – someone who was not part of my family or gay.  Last year I purchased several cute holiday outfits in anticipation of sight seeing, looking at Christmas lights, a sleigh ride, dare I dream a real live Christmas party and a complete shot in the dark: going to see the Nutcracker. (In the end I did finally drag my outfits outta the closet if only to look damn fine at the grocery store.) And lest we forget the array of products I purchased from Sephora, like buttercream flavored lip gloss on the off chance that for the first time ever I might receive a kiss from an actual man who was not related to me.  

Sure I could do all this by myself or with family, but in all my 27 years I’ve never had the pleasure of an actual boyfriend.  It’s rather pathetic to admit you’ve only received flowers from you Grandparents.

So I’m sure once again Valentine’s Day will pass without a thought or care, and birthday smurgles are only in my dreams.

So here I sit, utterly defeated and now choose security over the possibility of love.  And now who comes calling at my door?  Men as old as my parents, thrilled at the chance of being with a damn fine vivacious gurl at the tender age of 27.  Yes they’re millionaires, but this gives me lil comfort when a Viagra induced 62 yr old would love to have “some fun” with me.  

Don’t despair.  It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let any of these bastards poke me.  I didn’t stay a virgin for 27 years only to give it up to any Tom, Dick or Harry.