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.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

A reader takes Hump Day

Sorry for the late post today, ya’ll. For some reason unraveling a sweater till — 3? 4? — a.m. meant sleeping late. Very late. When I finally tried to squint at my alarm clock, I couldn’t quite believe it was back in single digits again and showing a two. Yeah.

Luckily I’d brushed my teeth by the time the client called, minutes later, and I hadn’t missed any important emails.

It must be old-home week
There have been many attempts to reach me, however, by a surprisingly consistent demographic — men written up in this blog.
  • Yesterday morning, Geezer #2 left a phone message for me (though when I returned his call today, via cell phone, he seemed confused and insisted I had called the wrong number).
  • Also yesterday, or the day before, Harvard Lickwit emailed out of the blue — twice — weighing in on my allegedly too-high salary/job expectations. I’ve missed talking to you too.
  • Errands through the old work ’hood yesterday took at long-last to the old Starbucks I used to frequent. Stopping in to kill time and do a little knitting for my other client, I ran into Leather Daddy (who has ... duh-duh-DUNHH ... the same new phone I do). Not long after, we were joined by my friend The Big Guy, whom I met more than a year ago through my friendship with Homeless Girl Friend (she’s now somewhat stabilized, he reports, although her housing situation involves occasional sex with her benefactor; this duty is apparently eased by his age — 60something — which makes the intimaces fairly infrequent. I just remember her saying she didn’t want to have to do that at all).
  • Finally, this afternoon, after the two-minute Client #1 conference call (was that really necessary? I think they just like using the vaguely Trekkie control device) ... my phone rang again. Nine-one-oh? I don’t know that area code ... Oh, but I did. I just forgot I did. Four weeks and a new phone later, who remembers what a NoCala area code looks like? Oh yes, folks: it was the Politician checking in. He wanted to make sure I’d gotten his emails (bangs head against laptop).
Meanwhile, readers to my blogs also seem to be unusually attentive. Both feature strong reader-to-page stats (an unheard-of 25% on the other blog), and a way-sub-average 50% on this one (usually means a handful of readers have readed or clicked through multiple pages of the blog). Best of all, some of you are even leaving comments (Anna beams a beautific smile presumably like those The Big Guy kept on raving about when he declared it his mission to make me blush).

One reader, in fact, has not only entered this month’s contest (less than two days left! Don't forget to enter!), but weighed in on breakup albums and the skull-scratching matter of office flashes. He’s twice now begged for clarification. So I suppose, for today, we can let reader Frasier slightly dictate the conversation.

Definitional flip-flops
First off, the flashes. And I don’t mean hot ones (sorry, bad femme joke, eh? ;)). Sometime last week, during a more garrulous moment at the office, colleagues discussed a disturbing moment with a works-long-distance coworker. Because of a staff retreat of some sort, she evidently made an appearance ... as did her underwear (scant though I hear it was). The post-flash recap focused primarily on the details of said garment and whether chemical explanations were possible. The historicity of the flash was vehemently defended based on an uncontested but spur-of-the-moment decision that flashes in an office contact need not be full-dermal* to qualify, although in less-professional settings the presence of undies — thong or otherwise — would disqualify the showing. I have yet to determine what a sub-flash flash would be described as, however, other than “the office flash, off hours.”

Soundtrack of your heart(break)
Whew! That important matter cleared up, let’s turn to Frasier’s other commentary: the love-gone-wrong album. He writes:
Hi Anna

Having spent half an hour writing a screed to you, I was thwarted from sending it by a message stating that, in the absence of an upgraded account, I had to limit my message to 1000 characters.

So being unwilling to edit my message but fearing you will henceforth refer to me as “The Cheapskate”, I have attempted to get the full message to you by cutting and pasting it to this hotmail message and sending it to this danzfooll address. Will this work? As a techno neophyte, I have no idea. But let me point out that whoever was responsible for the 1000 characters message gave no info on upgrading my account -- so they’re marketing neophytes! (I just might have splurged on upgrading and dodged that putative cheapskate epithet.)

Anyway, here’s the message. Hope it gets through --

My tried ’n true disappointment/breakup/heartbreak albums?

Well, there are a few. (Quite a few when you’ve had the sort of checkered love life I’ve had!) But my offeering for today is one I’m really surprised that you have not mentioned, given the music tastes you profess.

It’s the Rod Stewart album “It had to be you ... the great American Song Book”.

These foolish things” has had tears of self pity rolling down my cheeks. “They can’t take that away from me” and “Every time we say goodbye” have plunged me deep into post break-up angst. While “For all we know” has had me wallowing in melancholia.

And what makes the album so bittersweet is that previoously, while relationships have been on a high, I will have exulted in so many of the songs -- like “The way you look tonight”, “It had to be you” and “Moonglow”. Having brought such joy in times past they become double-edged swords plunging through my heart. (By the time the album is played out I’m so achingly sorry for myself I’m almost enjoying it!)

Enough. More album contributions at a later date.

Yours in melancholia


PS: Sorry to read about your Bleak Monday. We’ve all been through them. We all bounce back and good to read you’ve done so today.
Awwww. Reader love makes me so happy. :D But back to business, the break-up business. I do have further thoughts on possibly music choices for such times of hurt and longing, but I’m curious what others of you think. Be inspired by Frasier! Weigh in with commentary!

Or just read the Blogfather’s take on wedding dreams and haircuts. It’s pretty funny.

*As in, full-epidermis. Or was that part obvious?

Sexless BOTtoM

Taking Sex Differences Seriously
Taking Sex Differences Seriously
High Fidelity
High Fidelity

see also DVD
hear also soundtrack
And the might-be, might-not-be great break-up album

Garden State
Soundtrack to the movie