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, December 07, 2004

Waiting for my ride

Dahlings, I fear it may be light blogging today. Yours truly did not quite hit her blogging rhythm last night (choosing to stitch up seams in a sweater I’m finishing, then gossip with the roomie over pizza and hot toddies), and is presently at work. What’s more, I need to spend all idle time at work today practicing my best sloe-eyed, hapless-female helpless face.

In a West Coast state of mind ...
Why is that, you ask? Well you see, there’s a little thing called Anna’s West Coast tour that launches 10 SHORT DAYS from today. Of course, being the cinch traveler that I am, arrangements have been made in only the most rudimentary fashion. Housing I think I’ve secured, but transport on the other hand ... Well let’s just say I’m not quite dumb enough to believe some swell bus (or train) runs speedily, on the hour, from SFO to, say, Palo Alto (wherein my uncle and first source of housing resides). Certainly my budget doesn’t run to taxi fare ... nor is the distance anything close to walkable, bikeable, hitch-hikeable, etc.

Hence the need to pull in a few favors. Which requires a strategic mustering of helplessness, vulnerability, etc. Because of course, these transfer very well over email to the friends/family/random bums I know with whom I may soon attempt such wheedling, begging, pleading and general cajoling for said transit favor. Hence the practicing in idle time ... and the inability to blog at length.

So, SWF26 + XN = SWF37?!?
But as one short item ... last weekend friends and I conferred about the rather unique plight of Christian singles. The girlfriends in question are convinced that singlehood, for Christians, is measured in something akin to dog years. Thus, being single and 26 is really akin to being single and 37ish for the secularist. But I think all of that has just the tetch of bunkum. I mean, it’s not like your clock ticks any faster cuz Jesus is your (main) man.

You just get less sex over a lifetime. But possibly this is akin to the scenario whereby high-quality winemakers actually reduce the yield per grape so as to result in better-quality vino. Thoughts?

I apologize if this morning’s entry is somewhat more confusing than usual; in a desperate attempt to conserve funds (and justify this morning’s purchase of both C monster Odwalla and croissant) I have temporarily switched to office coffee. Yech. This ain’t no Starbucks latte.

But should you desire more structured, deliberate reading, check out Blogfather’s tale of romantic woe, which was the essay of the month over at The Subway Chronicles. Warning bells for the romantic in all of us ...

Lastly, since comments on the matter of this month’s contest have been sparse, I’m giving you one more day to opine. Remember, the key here is weekly winners. I’ve been accused of being a packrat, ya’ll. Anna must unload belongings, even if they are on the smallish side.

Plus, coming soon ...
Lunch with Hesitator on Thursday, possible dinner with Hippie the Groper, and exciting times trolling a conservative book fair (in the skirt Ad Weasel asked to look up). Much droll blogging for sure, if I can only get my caffeine on.