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, January 31, 2005

A party one oughtn’t blog about, pity

Blogging, at least in this case, is a little bit like acting. People come to you for laughs, because they’re bored or need a respite from the doldrums of the work day.

On some level you hope they’re drawn to what you’re making, to the way you tell a story. But deep down (and this is where the acting metaphor breaks down), you actually hope they’re drawn — a little bit — to you. Because it’s not just a funny story or good point, but something that’s been said or done by you.

So when a blogreader drifts away, by transition, forgetfulness or mystery-of-the-blogosphere glitch ... it stings a little more than it probably should. You miss the contact, passive though it was, maybe tend to take it all a little too personally. “Why did she take me off her blogroll? Did I do something to offend?”

Pity the paranoid...
That’s the trouble with women, you see, we personalize it all, silence very much included. As the Winner told me once, men don’t see the world this way. They assume that if you and they have not spoken in six months, things are just the way — between you — that they were the last time. But women freak out. “We haven’t spoken in six months! We must not be friends anymore!” Etc.

Of course it only gets worse when said friendship is mostly carried out online. What do you do when something ends, or someone suddenly stops being online?!! What are you to assume, moreover? (Assuming being critical for women, you see, who like to brace our tender hearts for possible hurt to come. Thoroughly assessing the situation gives us the illusion of control and the sense of being ”prepared” for whatever outcome or development is to come.)

Wedding Date hasn’t been online in weeks. And I know he hasn’t checked my blog in longer. Which is all right, really. I think our contact was mostly just a build-up to the date now some time in the past. But still, I wonder: Did he take me off his “friend” list? Is he really online to others? Same thing for the Lickwit, with whom I once used to IM frequently. He’s never online these days, though I hear he’s known to chat. So are these conversations transacted by email ... or IM? Or would someone actually avoid logging in because they feared that you would contact them, but didn’t want to actually “de-friend” you?

A pity ’bout that perm. gig
Such is the paranoid world of women online. OK, maybe the paranoid world of unemployed women online. But I’m working on that. Really. Besides: as we’ve already learned, clearly my 2005 love life depends on a permanent job. More so, even, than it did a week ago. You see, just when I realized this massager thing I’d gotten could be a real boon — even a purity massager (which would, in theory, enable me to resume dating again) — I’ve gotta give the damn thing away!

That’s right, readers. Anna is as we speak preparing to sacrifice the possible success of her love life for the benefit of another. For Poster Boy has won the BRWS (as you now know), and it was clear long before the contest conclusion that he had very great need of a purity massager indeed. You see, apparently it could ward off backrubs. And in that wacky, wacky world of Christian dating ... if dancing leads to sex, backrubs most certainly lead to DTRs*.

And what do most Christian men hate? DTRs. Which as we learned from Mr. Flirty Pants, they strangely can’t seem to avoid: not their fault, can’t be helped, all a consequence of baby-mad women. So, well, Poster Boy obviously needs to fend off his hordes of backrubbing-but-sanctified hussies (or so I hear) more than I need to ... um ... um ... tote along a purity massager as safeguard against those Frisky-Hands Fritz types you just run into all over this damn city. I hear it’s quite a problem. I haven’t dated one, obviously, but – you know — I hear things.

And speaking of hearing things (pretend that wasn’t an awkward lapse in late-night blogging), just wait till tomorrow’s entry! Then you’ll finally hear all about my celebrity judge-filled Blog Reader World Series judging party.

*Define-the-relationship talk. back