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, November 17, 2004

Man-snaring 101

Updated 11-21-04, 2:11 a.m.*

Sometimes when it rains, it really soaks you ... but not in the sense of depleting your funds, of course. In this instance I’m actually getting a reverse-soaking, I guess you could say. The temp work I scored this afternoon will bring money in next week, and the outtings this evening with Geriatric Gent will augment my social capital. Confused yet? I am. Maybe it’s all the wardrobe changes required to accommodate the last-minute addition of evening entertainments with that Groovey Geezer. You see, in keeping with the Best Friend-Anna pact of consistently being the hottest women at our monthly cocktail hour, I had planned on wearing the dress that resulted in last year’s Halloween costume (Good Librarian Gone Bad). But if I’m to be holding my own against an allegedly notorious if seriously aging lothario, longer skirts are called for. Friends-of-mine-on-flickr, good news: Best Friend is bringing her digi-cam tonight, so hopefully there will be party pics posted tomorrow, by which you can judge the suitability of my attire (and possibly even spy Groovey Geezer himself!).

As for the other things I’ve promised you, lock-in musings will have to wait, but now on to this week’s Spooning Fork. While it would be tempting to go with Macy’s “Relating to a Psychopath” or “Sexual Revolution” (both fun, bouncy dance songs), I’m actually much more interested in darker musings: “Gimme All Your Lovin’ or I Will Kill You.”

‘Gimme All Your Lovin’ or I Will Kill You’ from The Id
Whew! This song alone could explain countless of those pessimistic, women-are-the-devil songs ole B.B. King loves to sing (in between all the ones on how his baby is an angel).

She starts out slow ’n lazy, mellow horns laying down a chill-kinda loungy groove. You can practically smell the martinis as your head starts bobbing. The lyrics, too, begin with the familiar tale of liking rejected ...
no matter what or how i tried
i couldn’t get the man to fall in love with me
turns out he likes the girls with long and wavy hair
mine is short and kinky
i have lost my mind
... before they move on to the alarming:
c’mon and
gimme all your lovin’
or i will kill you
put one through your head
gimme all your lovin’
or i will kill you
and cry when you’re dead
Gulp. Well then. Don’t mess with that lady! And yet ... I’ve gotta concede (Anna shuffles feet, makes faces) ... there’s something sorta familiar in her plight. And not just because this is a straight-ahead, 21st century follow-up to Nina’s sentiments in “Do I Move You?” The fact of the matter is, all women generally try to win the men we fancy, no matter how passive and unconcerned we may appear. And the more we’re thwarted, the more obsessive we get. Not of course, that I would ever tend toward the obsessive (subjects restless feet to concerted study). I’ve never ... uh ... used the pretext of phone trouble to call a suitor who hasn’t called in a week “just so he’ll know I’m note deliberately blowing him off in case he called — which I might not have gotten the message from, since my phone was acting up, you see. Cursed cell phones.”

No sirree. No such games for me. :-o I’m just a simple and honest girl, really. Who happens to swear sometimes. And give chocolate vaginas to men who piss me off. (In the background, strains of Audrey Hepburn warbling: “I’m a good girl, I yam!”) Why, every time I experience a rejection that should send me back for lengthy consultations with the Matchmaker Upstairs, don’t I do just that? Hasn’t this blog been full of such noble if rather boring stories?

Oh, I suppose it hasn’t (fumbles with lyric sheet). But back to the song anyway ... So she finishes — she finishes — with the following sly defense:
it’s amazing what a gun to the head can do
my baby loves me now as hard as he can
my methods may be suspect
but you gotta get love however you can
Which stanza for the strangest reason suggests to me that Macy is a short one. In all my experience of other women, I have never seen a gal wield quite as much power over men as those who shop in the petite section. At least, since I am nearly 5’8” — and getting skinnier on this mostly coffee diet — that’s the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for why Anna never gets the man she wants, be that by gunpower or otherwise. Something about the man being able to look me in the eye (when I’m wearing 3” heels) ... seems to help him see right through my guise, and get away. Although you’d be surprised the way a focused gal can sprint in heels ...

But then there’s always Groovey Geezer. And look what ignoring him has done! Maybe Macy just needed to regularly strut past her man (preferably in hose like tonight’s seamed fishnet stockings), head turned the other way in animated conversation ...

“I have lost my mind.” But that I blame entirely on disruption to my bloodstream caffeine levels, incurred during Sis’ visit. All these hours on end online would never contribute to that ... Not a’tall.

Best Friend didn’t show, but visit Kevin McCullough’s blog for a pic nonetheless.

*Yes, that means I cheated some on my blog fast. But in principle ...