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.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

A noisy-neighbor guest blog

**UPDATED, 2:13 p.m.**

Dahlings ...

So sorry for the many-day weekend hiatus, but I am back, full of stories, and at long last sure of this month’s contest prize.

While I set the mice a-typing on the full scoop (yes, mice; apparently we now have them in my apartment), here’s a noisy-neighbor story from Poster Boy to tide you over. He swears he is not making this up.
When I was in college, I roomed next to a couple of baseball players who would frequently leave the building with their stereo cranked and ONE song on constant repeat (Pearl Jam’s ‘Jeremy’, Tom Petty’s ‘Free Falling’, etc.) The last straw was when they left Dolly Parton’s version of ‘I Will Always Love You’ on full blast for 9 hours.

I went to the library that afternoon and checked out a CD of animal mating sounds. I came home and rearranged my furniture and faced my huge hi-fi system towards the wall between us and went to bed.

At 3:00 AM, I turned the speakers up full blast and played a 5 second clip of rhinoceros love sounding something like ‘UUUUUUURRRRHGGHHEEEEEEEE’ and then shut it off quickly. From the other room, you could hear the guys...‘What the HELL was that??? Was that the fire alarm??’

The routine for the rest of the night was to wait 30 minutes and repeat. For the rest of the year, every time they left their room without turning off their stereo, they would be treated to another night of rhino love. By spring break, I had em trained. ;)
... I realize this isn’t exactly new blog content for a certain Argentina-based reader, but really, sweetie, you didn’t go down there for the blog-reading, now did you?!! I hardly imagine that Argentina is suddenly the blog-reading capital of the world; that would surely involve vibrating massage chairs to read in, complimentary shaves and dairy-free hors d’oeuvres floating round on trays. If that is, of course, the setting in which you’ve been checking in on your brewing fight with Wedding Date, I immediately retract my remarks and acknowledge the new capital.

Must instruct the mice now ... back in a few.

Following up on last week’s anticipated outings, dinner with Hippie the Groper is a likely no-go given my sister’s arrival Wednesday night, and his busy schedule. Seeing Geriatric Gent, however, is most likely on for tonight. After my Bible study wraps up early (they have a hyper noise-sensitive neighbor downstairs), I’m supposed to call him about meeting up at a “fancy” art party at the Guggenheim. Much fashion strategizing to ensue, as one might imagine; too bad my wedding-attire consultant is out of country — although the verdict’s still out on whether or not I managed to be “stunning, not trashy” for the nuptials. Wedding Date would only remark on the hotness of my buff and big-eyed sister.