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.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Um .... um ....

’Fraid it is well beyond toothpicks this morning, my dears (moans, Oh God... in background). On a bare three hours’ sleep have already schlepped horrifying quantities of luggage 7 minutes’s teeth-gritting walk to the subway, up and down stairs, in and out of multiple confounded turnstiles ... in heels, with no breakfast, and on three hours sleep. Said heels regretably put me at all the wrong height for hauling heavier suitcase but it’s too late now.

...Did I mention the sleep part yet?

Even if I were not still half-blind from squinting at tiny dark-teal stitches of my latest sweater while finishing the final seam last night ... I’d be pretty cross-eyed anyway from fighting with my reluctant-to-open eyelids. Anticipate many a covert bathroom trip this morning to sneak in little naps. Also likely to spend much of the morning staring blankly into space and trying to remember the previous thought. Wanna place bets on the latte talley for today? One down, ?? to go.

Oh yeah, and then I had to wrestle with my damn bed this morning, taking it apart and boxing the mattress and springs while Donald Trump did an interview on the radio.

In sum: I can barely think, much less muse about boys and then blog such thoughts.

Wish me happy journeys and don’t forget to enter the contest by Sunday! Have packed prizes into monstrous luggage; will be conducting award mailings from the road, in addition to delivering last month’s second prizzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

PS: Am however wearing infamous red hot pants so perhaps some sort of travel adventures worthy of write-up will ensue. Have laptop in tow, so will try to blog something early next week if not over the weekend.