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, October 17, 2005

Sites and singlehood stats

If you’ve thought this blog has lately been a little light on substance, your mind is not deceiving you. It has. But really, when a girl stops dating men without a chaperone, and shies away from almost all male friendships, what sort of content do you expect? Besides, with advance in hand, I’m finally underway on writing the book. To which end I’ve also finally purchased domain names (!!!!). Alas, some twerp in the Cayman Islands snatched up this last June. Punk. But Yahoo small business had some rather “helpful” suggestions for an alternate .com:
Additional Suggestions
  1. sexlesslove
  2. sexlessclub
  3. sexlessdates
  4. sexlesssatisfaction
  5. esexless
  6. neversexless
  7. thesexlessmarriage
  8. sexlessinseattle
  9. analsexlessone
  10. sexless7517drug
  11. mysexlessinthecity
  12. sexlessinthecitycentral
  13. thesexlessinthecity
  14. sexlessinthecityweb
  15. intersexlessinthecity
  16. sexlessinthecityland
  17. techsexlessinthecity
  18. esexlessinthecity
  19. sexlessinthecitynet
  20. isexlessinthecity
... All available as .net, .org and .biz. While a few of these with .org status might work for that counseling-for-sexually-frustrated-priests gig I used to joke I was in training for ... I think I’ll stick with Content coming once I figure out a site-design budget. And in case that t-shirt business is a hit, I also took out a two-year claim on Man, this could be addictive.

In other news, Tall Drink o’ Water interrupted my post-church chat with Guy Friend #1 and Girlfriend last night. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I was out in California.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do?”

“Oh, you know ... Research. Saw some family.* Finally heard my friend’s band ...”

“Wait a minute. You mean ... Poster Boy?”

Because, my dears, if ever a conversation starts to falter, what does Anna do but whip out a proven saga (insert silent reel of Anna telling story with large hand gestures, over-the-top facial expressions)? And, well, at the time there may have been a few colorful details that seemed a likely conversation kindling. The trouble is, I’ve never figured out whether such mentions of other men put out a gentleman’s ardor or merely fuel his competititive instincts.

But Tall Drink o’ Water promised to send an email this week, so maybe my long absence, combined with a lingering sense of duty as one-time love-life counsel, prompted this unprecedented commitment. Only time will tell. After all, Geriatric Gent implied he’d call me after return from London and that was months ago. Although as Geezer #2 demonstrates, such silences are sometimes due to health woes.

Men. Such a confusing business, really. Sometimes I wonder where my mothering-age mentors find the hope to suggest that all too soon I’ll be married and laughing off all this late-20s silliness. They must be assuming I’ll find a husband before I’m 30. After all, I am told by Poster Boy that once you’re 30 there’s a “58 percent chance” of life-long singleness. And if those are the odds for men, they’re surely much worse for me.

At least I’ll always have iBaby ... (strokes case lovingly).

*In fact, saw more than I really needed to, but that’s another story ... Let’s just say, thank God I don’t see too well without my glasses.