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.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Broadway broken up

Blue Train was playing at the coffee shop this morning. It dawned on me a bit slowly. But then my head was still a-fog about other things. Things that made ole Coltrane mighty appropriate music for my morning. The coffee boy (who shares a name with one of my brothers, the warm brown eyes of the other) said I should stick around to hear the rest of the album. But I was still in recovery so even that oh-so-mild flirtation went mostly over my head.

You see, SBC, today’s post was originally not about how “boys like me” but about how they don’t. Well, one anyway. Yes, dahlings, it’s true. I’ve survived my first breakup. A friend breakup, but a breakup nonetheless. A lyric re-write of my own briefly appeared as a conclusion to October’s contest, but I guess some legends fare better in oral form than on the web. So many firsts! I hardly know what to do with myself, much less this aging blog.

Now as for business, there were regretably few entries in this month’s contest but I’m pleased to announce our winner: reader Kristen. The race is officially now a 4-way dead heat between Rob, Charissa, VJ and Kristen. Details for November’s contest coming soon. Don’t drop out of the running now, dahlings! I’ve made arrangements for last year’s purity massager to be passed along to this year’s champion as the trophy (Poster Boy has yet to verify condition, but I doubt he’s used it much).

Tata for the weekend ... and if you’re a Village Voice reader, look for me in Wednesday’s Lusty Lady.