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, January 11, 2005

Contest-conclusion conundrum

I know it’s been more famine than feast here lately, but if ya’ll have not yet given up on me, I need a little help.

While there has not been much on-blog word of the thrilling conclusion to our Blog Reader World Series, I am happy to report much off-blog action. Only trouble is, both Poster Boy and Frasier seem peculiarly drawn to photos with kidlets. Which for this one-time journalist raises consent problems (among other things). Sigh.

In the interest of maintaining the PG-13 rating of this site, some compromise is called for. So far I’ve come up with three possible solutions:
  1. Ban people-inclusive photos of all kind (the approach I’ve generally taken with my pics).
  2. Select a group of volunteers prepared to vote by viewing a private flickr page, or having the entries emailed to them.
  3. Put the vote up to Best Friend, who will not be given any hints or bribes (though Poster Boy maintains she likes him better. Yeah, has she been asking you for favors, as she’s been with Frasier?? ;)).
Those are the options. Readers: any preference or suggestion? Oh, and Frasier, lest your heart begin to quake at option 3, you should happily note the following.

As of 2005, all former-crush chips’ve been cashed in or else expired. You gennelman are playin’ with your own hands and nuthin’ else to help ’em (toothy grin involving vigorous batting of lashes on AB’s part). Besides, if this contest is all about the ego-bolstering, ain’t it more of a thrill to win by skill as opposed to charm or various bribes?

Now then. I’ve got to prepare for some sharing at a Brooklyn Bible study, but later tonight I might get inspired to add a little requisite Broadway zest to this entry. ;) You know, like, tales of my hijinx in those heels that sent me crashing down the stairs in Palo Alto ... except with hot, seamed fishnets and no bruises! Teaser: said hose figure into my fateful meeting with that guy named Tom. Turns out kicking up red-heeled shoes makes a dancer of some fond-of-wallflower-status men.