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.

Monday, December 20, 2004

December contest, week 2

Caption this! Yeah, it’s a little gorey, but what can I say? Out here barely three days, and already I’ve taken a battering. Various train delays outbound, sore forearm muscles from schlepping suitcases many blocks and up and down multiple flights of stairs ... and then my luggage got delayed until Saturday, noon (at least they deliver). Plus today my calves are wicked tight from a run Saturday afternoon, and obviously I won’t be spending much time on my knees anytime soon.

The cause for which, by the way, provides this week’s exciting caption-contest challenge! Don’t delay. Entries accepted through Sunday, Dec. 26, so send in your best creative explanation for/interpretation of my dramatic injury before the holiday. Winners of last week’s contest still being determined.

But back to the injury. All I have to say is, bad. My knee is practically purple in some places and apparently my shin is even swollen. Funny I didn’t notice that at dinner with Poster Boy. Which, by the way, went off without disruption. Although I do believe Poster Boy managed to arrive at my uncle’s house in time for a command performance of Tom belting “Sex Bomb” from the stereo. Ah, the Jones ...

As for other man-related adventures, I fear the days have so far been dull. My plane-mate was an iPod-owning Yale alum, but we barely spoke except when summoning airplane staff to supply more water for yours truly. Which is sad because, you know, airplane flights can sometimes be the stuff of grand adventure.

In the spring of 2001, for instance, I was flying back from a spring-break trip to France when I got delayed. Extensively. Somehow as the wait stretched on and on, I became acquainted with a cute-ish book-shop worker from Portland. We did the whole West Coast/Northwest bonding thing and by the time accommodations were provided since our flight would be delayed some 20 hours ... well, let’s just say a different woman would have had herself a one-night stand.

I of course did not. But the next morning my new flight buddy demonstrated admirable negotiation skills, finessing a multi-passenger seat-swap that scored him a coveted place at my side. Of course, not until the descent was he so bold as to grab my hand, and in the long run I did the best by him in my discovery of Alain de Botton. Although I have to say, there’s something more than a little disconcerting about sitting next a man you’ve just met, on an international flight from Paris, and discovering that his book is the tale of a romantic who spends pages detailing the wild-card combination of chances which brought him together with his love on a flight en route from Paris to London. I remember thinking “I hope you’re not making too much of this...” Then I read the first two paragraphs of the novel, it was like someone had a written a book from all my journals, and I was permanently hooked on the Brit (i.e., de Botton).

So much for travel hook-ups. Still, there is today’s flight up to Seattle. Maybe if I wear a nice skirt or something - strategically displaying my bruises - I can finagle a little sympathy from some hot Seattle-bound traveler. After all, Poster Boy advised me to “work the system” by using dates to get such out-of-my budget items as movie tickets, so why not leverage the bruises?

Which is something you, too, can do in this week’s contest. Don’t forget (or delay) to enter!