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 10, 2004

Springfield sidewalk tawker interrupts stupor

Light blogging today, I’m afraid; the sis is up from DC for the long weekend. But so I don’t leave you entirely without amusement, a Sidewalk Tawk for this week.

It was Sunday afternoon in Springfield, Va. and I was standing in line at a Starbucks, staring blankly at the array of baked goods under the glass case. In keeping with my unofficial uniform for the Big Wedding weekend, I wore jeans and my green leather boots, and was stretching the usefulness of a short-sleeved summer T by wearing it over a solid red long-sleeved shirt from the J. Crew pajama line. The T in question happened to be the very same “I [heart] Nerds” T that has appeared in two major events:
  • my infamous night at Honky-Tonk when a small-time porn producer (?!!) asked me if I dance and act, then offered the card for his enterprise, Seize It Films (card showings available on request)*
  • the double date to end all double dates, in which Best Friend, The Captain, Harvard Lickwit and I caught a Morrissey show at the Apollo. The very same date, mind you, on which H.L.’s flagging ardor was revived by the discovery that (gasp) Anna has curves! Apparently he even felt obliged, by the shirt, to do his best “nerd” performance, complete with witticisms and hauteur. Funny, I always thoughts web-geeks and computer nerds were the ultimate nerds ... And I guess I should add to that list bloggers. :D
But based on Sunday’s Starbucks visit, nerds not only include Harvard alum PR hacks and the aforementioned plug-n-play set ... they include postmen.**

There I am, inspecting the snack case, when in my peripheral vision I see the good-sized, pony-tailed man ahead of me do some sort of double-take. Finally he says “I’m a nerd.”

Now at this point I could try to be all noble and claim my failure to respond encouragingly was all part of this new sobriety-in-dating reform campaign ... but probably said nonplussed response more accurately indicated the hardy nature of my looksism. Had the guy been cuter, younger, (gulp) hipper, I probably would have muddled my way through the caffeine-craving daze that wrapped me to muster some sort of characteristic flirt.

But no. He got none. So the poor chap was left there to ramble away an explanation about how he, as postman, certainly fit the bill of “nerd.” And though this may be adding insult to injury, I have to say the middle-aged airport security guys in New Zealand did the I-heart-nerds pick-up line with far more style. Maybe it was the advantage of a tag-team approach ... “He’s a nerd.”

*An approach that may had something to do with the hot red but not lace-up pants I was also wearing.
**No, I don’t mean Neil, may he rest in peace. But if you get this reference, congrats! You’re a bona fide nerd no matter what your job! ;)