On New Years Day a friend of mine asked me when the last time I had sex was and I was like

The cold hard truth was that I’d only slept with two people in the last two years and the last time was in October of 2016.

There is one simple reason why…my unintentional bout of celibacy was entirely down to a lack of trying, which I decided to go out and prove.

Despite the fact that I’ve made it clear over the past couple of years that it’s extremely easy to get laid, it’s like pretty much anything in life in that if you don’t try, nothing is going to happen. I’m not inundated with sexual offers from strangers every day. I’m inundated with drunk Facebook messages from exes, but they’re in England and I’m in Los Angeles so that does me exactly no good whatsoever.

The thing is…when you live with other people it’s extremely inconvenient to hook up with randos. And yes I’m still bangin like it’s 2009 because I tried the whole serious monogamy thing and it just wasn’t my jam. The older I get, and the more friends I see getting divorced before 35, the more I’m like

Marriage has done nothing but end friendships for me. It’s like as soon as someone gets married they want to pretend they were never hoe-ing it up and that their life is all sacred, and then they look at me and I’m basically a visual reminder of all the crazy shit they did and that they probably won’t do again in the next 5-10 years. This is exclusive to female friends, although one close guy friend got married and as soon as he put a ring on it his wife took about five seconds before telling me

Which is fine. I get it, I wouldn’t like me either. I’m surprised she waited six entire years before telling me to stay away from her man. As she was telling me to my face how much she hated me I was just like

Anyway, this isn’t about marriage drama, this is about Stella gettin her groove back.

So, living with people in confined spaces makes it extremely awkward to hook up with someone. Just because I live with you doesn’t mean I want to have any kind of conversation about my sex life or have you ask who that guy leaving in the morning was. At this point the main motivation to me getting my own flat as opposed to living in a house share is that I can get it on without the questioning glances the next day.

I really didn’t appreciate the convenience of having my own secluded room a mere two-minute walk from my college bar at uni until it was gone. There’s a reason I was able to write a sex blog during Oxbridge and why ever since I graduated it’s been like

It’s fucking inconvenient to go out and meet a stranger to shag. At least at university I had a vague idea about what kind of person I was jumping into bed with. Out in the real world they could be literally anyone. Are you married? Divorced? Have kids? Dogs? An iguana named Fred? WhoTF knows?? Not me.

Either way, in January I made one resolution, and that was to hoe it up. I ambitiously aimed to have sex at least once a week, but that goal was quickly thwarted when my housemate gave me 30 days notice to move ten minutes after I’d given her the rent for January on New Years Day. I was like, “Seriously? Right in front of my champagne?” And you know why she asked me to move? Because her fiancé didn’t like me.

I’m not being hyperbolic when I say other people’s marriages are ruining my life.

Purely out of rage and spite I found a new place to live the next day because my housemate said that she would pro-rate the rent for whenever I moved out so I was like

Because moving is expensive and I wasn’t about to just hand over a grand for them to use for a wedding cake. Pay for your own goddamn cake.

The thing about hasty decisions made out of spite is that they aren’t always in your best interest. Something I realised shortly after moving into my new place. And that if things are too good to be true, they probably are. What on paper was a huge studio with a walk in closet and a massive en suite for only $900/month in Hollywood was actually a living nightmare. Every day I’d come home like

But that’s an entirely different story. Basically the landlord was a total psychopath and by February I was out of there.

I imagined a lot of things for myself in 2018, but moving twice in thirty-four days was not one of them.

I also didn’t anticipate being hospitalised for kidney stones, which was a total boner killer, let me tell you. Didn’t foresee my GP then casually telling me that whilst in A&E for my kidneys they also found ovarian cysts and a nodule on my lung. I don’t even know what the fuck a nodule is, but it didn’t sound good. Not one bit.

Basically by Valentines Day I found myself homeless and potentially dying, so naturally I went on a bit of a y-fuckin-olo bender.

One of my best friends from my first year at uni, who I shall call Nicole, went on to study at the University of California, Santa Barbara and then never left, because literally why would you? I’ve been all around this water-filled orb and I can honestly say Santa Barbara is one of the most beautiful, if not THE most beautiful places I’ve ever been. No word of a lie, every day I was basically staring at this

Which was a refreshing change from a lifetime of this

Too bad Santa Barbara has that whole “being part of America” thing.

Anyway, I hadn’t seen Nicole in about seven years, but when I told her about my struggles in LA she convinced me to go stay with her in Santa Barbara.

This development was interesting for two reasons.

1. When I met Nicole I was a virgin, and basically adopted her M.O. when it comes to sex, which is “life’s a party, rock your body”.


B. When I was in my second year I took a course in which I had to write a novella and I chose to write about a particularly tumultuous time in our friendship. This past Christmas I found a hard copy of said novella, which might possibly be the only copy still in existence, and by New Years Day I had begun to edit and re-write it in preparation for publishing.

In the course of just over one month I went from not having seen Nicole in seven years to delving deeply back into this story I’d written about her and then livign with her. Crazy how life works sometimes.

If there was anyone who was going to fully support me in my hoespirations, it was Nicole. She’s always had this kind of blind faith in whatever I choose to do. When we were 18 we were talking with another friend about who would get married and have kids first and Nicole turned to me and said, “Well definitely not you.”

“What? Why?” I’d asked, preparing to be offended.

“I don’t know. I just know you’re going to do something great with your life.”

Which had me like

I’ve thought about what she said at least three times a week since then.

From the moment Nicole picked me up in LA things. Were. INSANE.

She was in town for a friend’s birthday and to celebrate we went to a King’s game. I initially thought the Kings were a basketball team, but nay. Hockey. My favourite part is when the players take a break to hug.

So we’re driving across LA in Friday traffic and her sister pulls out a bag of coke and says, “Want some?”

I wouldn’t call myself an avid consumer of cocaine, but if someone is offering then sure. Why not? So I do a line as we sit in traffic by Dodger stadium.

Now, I have an addictive personality when it comes to a lot of things, but for whatever reason drugs, and cocaine in particular, isn’t one of them. In fact I’ve never bought coke. I wouldn’t even know how to do that. Me buying drugs would look something like this

That being said, when cocaine is available, I’ll do it. And do it we did.

Five hours later I was in the toilet of a burlesque club with Nicole as a group of angry lesbians were waiting outside for us to finish our illegal activities before returning to the show. At some point someone handed me a stack of about fifty $1 bills, so I took that opportunity to tip the dancers heavily. Nicole insisted we walk up at the end of each dance and hand it to the performer personally whilst giving them a specific compliment.

“You look like a mermaid,” I said as I handed my favourite dancer $20 while Nicole nodded in approval next to me.

I’m not sure if I’ve just been hanging out with non-sex having people or what, but for whatever reason that evening I was hit on and asked out by more people in two hours than I had been in two years, largely due to Nicole encouraging my hoe escapades.

We took the after party to her friend’s house in Northridge and even though I didn’t hook up with anyone that evening, we hadn’t even gotten to Santa Barbara yet. And the most interesting bits were yet to come.


What are you thinking?