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, April 18, 2005

A multi-faceted dry spell

Friday night after work, I somehow found myself invited to the company bar (yes, we have one on-site, conveniently right next door to the IT department; one perk of being in advertising, I guess). Well into my first Guinness, the conversation somehow turns to one techie-hipster’s peculiar Asian-character T-shirt (the lettering turns out to be Japanese). I’ll spare you the conversational meanderings, but upshot of our chit-chat was mention of this utterly brilliant site. Based on my initial browse, “Recent Discoveries” is a great place to start ...

It was odd the ease with which I found myself the recipient of not one, but two free beers. Not odd for a girl in braids and pink Rolling Stones T, exactly ... but odd for a girl who’s sworn off dating. I mean, it hit me the other day just what I’ve done. At a time in my life when my income’s at low ebb and any near-future upswings in revenue will be diverted toward paying down my debt, the only feasible ways to live it up and enjoy the niceties this town has to offer are a) mooch off friends or b) go on dates. Clearly the former option is neither conducive to staying friends with the peeps in question, nor easy to accomplish once permanent employment is found (short of lying about such a job, of course). But since I’ve also eliminated option b, I’ve pretty much shut myself out of nicer booze and dining - or at least, the sort that’s done in public places.

Then again, if I end up working on my memoir (as I plan to do), there won’t be that much time for boozing it up anyhow. And when I do go out, a mere one beer or cocktail will probably be all my wits can afford (if writing is yet to be done that night). Also, if “biology” someday prevails and my body gets a chance to pop out all those kids I once dreamed of having, this could be considered training for those nine-month spates of liquor-fasting (musters spunky thumbs-up, frayed grin). Sigh.