Sexless in the City

Sometimes reading romance novels doesn’t quite prepare you for a love life...

For this 30-year-old urbanite, love is always a misadventure: The Harvard Lickwit, Hippie the Groper, the 5% Man, and the Ad Weasel. These and many other men wander in and out of her life — but never her bed.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

the beginning

It’s an inauspicious time to start a blog.

My 26th birthday nears (no signs of lover, hubby in the offing), my best friend harps on the “off-blog” nature of our convos (as if her sexual activity were the point of this!), and I just wasted several prime-REM sleep hours crafting yet another profile (gulp) for the beta version for Soulmatch — the ecumenical answer to eHarmony (imagine a UN for religions, with some Yenta at the head).

Worst of all, I can’t even decide how to organize my material, of which there is much. Do I proceed in chronological fashion? (Much delay will ensue, given my obsessive quest for “historical” accuracy.) Or do I introduce the men in a by-the-by fashion — as if telling stories to a new friend? I lean increasingly toward the latter, but have decided to put it first to a vote among you, dear readers.

(Yes, there will be occasional lapses into Victorian tones ... but have no fear. There’s lotsa masturbating and chocolate genitals yet to come — none of it even mine!)