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, April 29, 2005

Romantic Arminianism, pt. 2

It’s been a while since I revisited this theme but in the absence of any reader questions this week (sniff), it may be worth fleshing out the concept. Arminianism is, in general, a works-based view of relationships (originating as a view regarding man’s relationship to God). Whereas some in the soulmate camp might be termed Romantic Calvinists (those who think their love is predestined, hence will run on its own), Romantic Arminianists believe by expending enough work they can make a relationship happen.

For a long time my Romantic Arminianism manifested itself in the belief if I could just fix whatever was wrong with my approach to relationships, I’d finally get a real one (i.e., a boyfriend). Of course, this prompted me to constantly seek a relationship in which I could learn to be healthy and overcome my issues/neuroses/fuckwitedness which, on account of being yet unresolved, always prevented such a relationship from ever forming. That’s the Romantic Arminianism of worthiness: “If I work hard enough and ‘fix’ me, I’ll earn the right to pass Go and get out of singleness.” … Those familiar with Buddhism might also see parallels to the search for nirvana (read: a relationship), which comes only after you escape samsara, the cycle of suffering (read: singleness, unrequited love and pining). This of course results from accruing enough good karma and merit (I think you get what that corresponds to!).

But then there’s also the Romantic Arminianism of salvation/redemption: “If I work hard enough, I can save that relationship.” Currently I think my roommate’s now-ex-boyfriend is laboring in this stage. Sometimes, of course, this is a valid approach to relational brokenness. Last fall a colleague shared over lunch one day that he’d been cheated on by his ex, at which point she wanted to dump him. He objected: “You broke this, now you have to fix it.” Considering she hadn’t even painted the lover as her soulmate (in an attempt to excuse such fecklessness as merely responding to her “destiny”), it was a reasonable if unusual view. But sometimes one person simply moves on and there’s nothing you can do about it.

However, as the Romantic Arminianism of salvation often accompanies Romantic Arminianist voodoo, this can be a hard truth to grasp. Romantic Arminianist voodoo is probably most common in women, who learn early the power our looks have over men. Given the attentiveness granted to pretty girls and those whose cleavage frequently compensates for cover charge, what else are we supposed to think? My looks get me things. They can win men over. Add a little makeup, preferably sparkly in some places, maybe splash on a little perfume … voila! A girl could conceivably even upgrade her status vis-à-vis men with such modest self-enhancements.

Or so she thinks. Take yesterday morning, for example. En route to the subway I considered the lacy top I was wearing beneath my suit jacket. Which prompted me to recall a much-sweated boy who didn’t see me in said shirt — a boy I’m recently forced to admit may have liked me once but somehow got over me. A boy for whom putting out wasn’t even the issue! Then I thought, Well maybe if he’d seen me in this shirt … and it dawned on me what I was thinking. I presumed his shocking loss of interest was somehow my fault, or something I could have controlled or prevented — even that I’d been largely responsible for cultivating interest in the first place, before I faltered and fumbled the ball (mind you, we never got to fumbling around; just occasional side hugs and one undefined but datish dinner). Essentially, he was the Winner take II — generous helpings of Mr. Flirty Pants thrown in.

And because I clearly buy into Romantic Arminianist voodoo, here I was thinking one shirt not worn could somehow be blamed for him not liking me anymore. Clearly my worldview needs to change. But whether Romantic Agnosticism or Atheism is in store — or even possible — I’ve yet to tell. More on those faiths at a future date, perhaps.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Sexy, fascinating

... but not really about sex. See also mail order chickens.

And speaking of mail-order “goods,” a recent email:
From: maleorder@yahoo!.com
Subject: Iam cheerful,kind and loving
Date: April 26, 2005 11:14:07 AM EDT
Reply-To: maleorder@yahoo!.com

My dear,
My name is ANITA MANN. I need cheerful,kind and loving man to take care of me for the rest of my life.I promise i will make a good house wife and you will never regrate having somebody like me.If you are intrested write back to me.
Anita Mann
I hate to tell her I’m a woman. But I am curious about this “regrating” business ... maybe she could help me get a job in construction? I hear they pay well, and the men are hot.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Objects of domestic utility

Saturday afternoon I ventured out to run some errands in my neighborhood. One of these took me into the local dollar store, a cramped warren of aisles packed with overpriced tuna fish, lots of junk, and a few gems (also a tiny glass shard stuck to a candle that immediately dove for my finger; luckily they didn’t charge for a bandage from the First Aid kit). Surely such a place as this carried toothpicks, that baker’s friend I always forget to buy.

Sure enough, they did. But alas, the only toothpicks sold came broken out in little containers. Handy if I were running an pig-in-blanket stand or serving cheese cubes at a party, but I’m doing neither. I was ready to abandon all search for skinny spears of wood until I spied a packaging alternate: instead of 6 small containers, this boasted a modest 3, adorned with tasteful flower artwork and script lettering.

But what was this?!! What had they scrolled on the silly plastic canisters? “Objects of domestic utility.” As if this would somehow compensate for the chintziness of the plastic. Not that all objects of domestic utility are necessarily so shabby ...

Which brings us to this week’s Spooning Fork: Sammy Davis Jr. singing “She’s a Woman (W-O-M-A-N).” Courtesy of the Swingers Too soundtrack, my new favorite album and a veritable goldmine of Spooning Fork material.

‘She’s a Woman’ from Swingers Too
While this is by no means the only recording of the song, Sammy brings a certain emphasis that turns this into a paeaon to a domestic goddess.

She can wash out 40 pairs of socks and have ’em hangin’ out on the line
She can starch and iron two dozen pairs of shirts before you can count from one to nine
She can scoop up a great big dipper of lard from the dippin’ can
Throw in the skillet, go out and do ’er shopping and be back before it melts in the pan!

Cause she’s a woman, W-O-M-A-N - I’ll say it again.

She can rub and scrub till this old house shines just like a dime
Feed the baby and grease the car and powder her face at the same time
Get all dressed up and go out and swing till 4 a.m. and then -
Lay down at five and jump up at six and start all over again.

Cause she’s a woman, W-O-M-A-N.
And that’s just for starters! Mind you, I’m sure some feminists would holler like heck at the spirit of such a song ... but there ain’t many folks these days praising such retrosexual virtues. Sure, it must take some of the Stones’ “mother’s little helper” to last long with such a schedule ... but she sure sounds hot for jugglin’ all that. And I like that minding the house is for once acknowledged as a full-time job.

Sorry to be so late with today’s post; a busy day. Send me your questions for Wednesday, though, and we’ll do a little better!


Friday, April 22, 2005

Help from the grandparentals, pt. 2

Today on my lunch break I took a break from reading and proposal-editing to catch up on some phone calls, one of these to my grandparents. Trying to slip in a promising tidbit with scant explanation, I told Gramps things were humming along nicely on my book-proposal project. But at 84, he’s still got the Broadway sharpness. “Yeah? What’s your title?”

He’s not en-titled
Gulp. “Um ... well ...” Maybe the Bush twins can make Sex and the City jokes, but I cannot. Not because Gramps might not get the reference; he has opinions on blogs after all (“they’re all gossip”), and knows about eBay. Cheers for the nightly news! But even should he got the pop-cult. reference in this title, I’d be sunk. These are, after all, the grandparents who chide me for unladylike use of “crap” and irreverantly spiritual slang (using “God” as a copious filler akin to “like”).

I couldn’t even tell him it’s a “memoir of reluctant chastity.” Instead I hemmed and hawed. “Ah, well, it’s sort of about, um, my experience as a Christian single in ... uh ... the dating world. Love life ...”

Luckily this lack of clarity fired his creative juices. “You know what I think you should call it?”

“No, what, Gramps?” Yes. SAVED!

“Marching Single File.” Perhaps he confused me with my sister, the tough Marine, for a moment. There would be a memoir. The life of a single, nearly celibate Christian in the Corps.

“Or you could call ‘Marching in Step Single File,’” he continued, “but shorter is better. ‘Marching Single File’ - three words.” He’s a sharp ’un, that cat. All the book-proposal guides say five words or less. We had a good chuckle and I made my escape.

“Well, if the book sells and I use that title, I’ll be sure to make proper attribution as to its originator,” I said. I didn’t tell him another rejected title idea was Tight ... after this season of unemployment, of course. ;)

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Thursday post, where art thou?

Several of you have checked back today ... who from what I can tell of your ISP data also checked in earlier today, and last night. Which is not to say I view you as web-stalkers, but very loyal readers! ;) However, as I continue to wrap up my book proposal and do actual work, it gets more taxing to keep up the 5-a-week posting habit of old days. Henceforth, I will aim to post new content roughly three times a work week, say Monday/Wednesday/Friday.

In lieu of today’s post, go check out my write-up of hairnets and homeless men over at my other blog. Or check out Blogfather’s love-life blog, The Nondating Life. Don’t forget that your love-life queries help generate fresh blog content!

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Those 21st century boyz

I almost took a picture of it. “Male dysfunction,” the shop window said. Male dysfunction ... what could that be, an aversion to beer? Disinterest in adjusting self? Distasteful reaction to one’s own sweat?*

Well, OK, I’m stretching. But it’s hard, these days. Say one thing allegedly typifying men, and it turns out you’ve only revealed a stereotype disproved by someone from the Queer Eye cast. And don’t get me started on this “Emo-Boy” crap. Even the name sounds lame!

Although I had a thought about this yesterday, as I passed a skinny, pale guy with iPod singing along in bravura tenor ... and later a long, blond, floppy-haired chap with all the requisite Emo threads (or so I gather). I don’t think it’s some change in the gene pool or the way that men are men these days. I think it’s mostly pragmatic adaption. How much muscle tone do you need, after all, to push papers, surf the web, and wear a tie? Which is what most white-collar jobs these days require. Muscle tone and sweat (at least for city chaps) are practically a luxury good!

But it’s not just adaption to the sweatless conditions of office work. It’s also a response to all that hollering that started in the 60s. When women started asking for something different. Wanting, as they surely did, to still help seed the next generation, men responded. After all, when enough women agree to make a change in their relationships, the market conditions shift. When a critical mass of women still insisted on rings for sex, a girl got less flak for holding out, and men more or less complied with the dating-and-mating conditions. But once enough women decided that putting out shouldn’t cost that much, the dating world changed. A girl with super-glued knees these days is basically locked out. No matter how much else she offers there’s just too many women without her problem, and too few men who’ll pass on ring-free sex.

But back to my point about Emo-Boys, I think they’ve gotten gypped with that name. Why act like they’re a strange species lately arrived? They’re just men responding to the challenges of the day. Learning where and when and how their wits and skills must be put to use. I mean, as long as I have a laptop a guy with tech expertise is just as good as a fireman or mechanic. He knows how to solve the problems that make me panic. Sure, the sweat stains don’t quite work the same, but when my baby’s ailing (which is always, not that the disc-drive’s broke), there’s nothing hotter than a guy who talks as if the problem’s curable, and the surgery skills are all in those magic fingers.

Which view has nothing to do with lately working in an IT department ... I’m sure that I’ll still feel this way when this gig ends (which it will when they hire someone permanently). Which end may actually be a good thing. You see, something weird happened yesterday.

Shortly before taking my late lunch, I check the web stats for this site. Since I’m just a freeloader, Bravenet only shows the 10 most recent hits, highlighted to indicate the hits from your own computer (or ISP). So yesterday when I check the stats, all 10 most recent hits are highlighted. Implying I’ve poked around my own blog a lot. Except that I didn’t “visit” maself at all yesterday! Musta been someone else from the office. On a Mac. Using Firefox 1.7 (which I should use this chance to hype as the Better Browser, by the way - and it truly is).

Mind you, I’ve been quite careful not to disclose the name of this here blog or how to find it. But it’s probably common knowledge that I write. And if IT dept. sleuthing has sometimes turned up shady email practices, probably my at-work blogging is just as easy to follow. If one has access to such information of course. Though I can’t imagine why someone would want to take a peek at that ...

Ah, life on the web. Now if only it could help me find a Jesus freak who knows how to heal my iBook ...

Don’t forget to send me your love-life related questions! Without new reader queries, I don’t have much to blog about these days. So if you enjoy coming here, help me forge ahead in the next direction for Sexless.

*You’ve probably already guessed what sort of business it was: a doctor’s office. But why couldn’t they say, “Male sexual dysfunction”? Is a man’s worth and purpose now reduced to his procreative gift? Seems like maybe I should dig back into that long-forgotten Sexless BOTtoM, The Rise of Viagra. And since I recently finished remaking a sweater ...The Rise of Viagra: How the Little Blue Pill Changed Sex in AmericaHard Sell: The Evolution of a Viagra Salesman

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.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

‘Hold that position while I take this...’

As mentioned on this morning’s classic rock program, apparently the Ad Co. I’m temping for has done a hot study ... about some not-so-hot cell-phone user practices. Namely, taking calls mid-sex. Ahem.
Fourteen percent of the world’s cell phone users report that they have stopped in the middle of a sex act to answer a ringing wireless device.

The highest percentage was found in Germany and Spain, where 22% of users interrupted sex to answer their cell phones; the lowest was in Italy, where only 7% reported doing so. In the U.S., 15% say they practice cell phone interruptus.
Click-through on the headline to go all the way through their many fascinating findings on this pressing issue; registration required if you’re not an already identified reader of Ad Age. Blogfather, a work-around for this? ;)

And for those too lazy to get more than my digest version of the story ... surely this peculiar practice should provoke all sorts of reader commentary, yes? Have any of you actually done this or had it happen? Who doesn’t turn their phone off or at least put it on vibrate?

Monday, April 11, 2005

Beyond boredom

Continuing the topic of Sexless-in-transition, a blogger I usually don’t read had a curious rant not long ago:
... We’re starting to suck.

Aside from a few daily decreasing exceptions, we [bloggers] all say the same things, about the same things. ... I’m so not surprised by anything anyone writes. Even Instapundit was boring today, just going through the motions. They’re not having fun anymore, and neither are we.
At a recent social mixer, there was even talk of bloggers taking down their sites; deleting their blogs — just one click on a link: poof-gone. To which one might respond: “What gives?!!”

A while back, the Oxblogger David Adesnik remarked to me on a George Packer column in Mother Jones:
Both the late-night character of blogging as well as the constant searching for better links bears a rather remarkable resemblance to internet porn ...
My sense of the porn/fantasy culture (at least) is that no growth occurs ... in a psycho-social-spiritual sense. ;) With such repetition comes the dullness Riebling describes; an increasing desperation (in the case of fantasy) with drumming up new stimulants and fresh excitement, recreating the initial titillation. Blogging perhaps (in some cases) records such an approach to the internet.

The culture of restless click-throughs writ large
And indeed, when it comes to dating and relationships, some people seem to have the same approach to each other. Don’t get rooted; keep on moving; find the next hit once the current high starts to tank. If nothing else, keep one eye on the prospects for when this thing goes south. I once heard a man remark that the first time a woman reached for her zipper was the most exciting. Good luck with marriage, pal!

For most of us with under-demanding white-collar jobs, where high-speed web access is given, I suspect we survive with frenzied web surfing and chat. “Strategic inefficiency,” I once called it. The way you get through endless day after day of eight hours that doesn’t quite satisfy or push your gray cells to get their aerobics. That’s why you come here, is it not? ;) I see the way my stats drop on the weekends.

But the trouble, I’ve discovered, is that this habit of “professional” existence has a rather dismaying drawback: I lose all capacity for long-term focus. Gone is the mental tenacity needed to finish a master’s thesis. Maybe that’s why I don’t read books much any more (gulp). Easier to take along a knitting project for the train than something that requires concentration. After a while, though, such a life leaves me drained and slightly frantic. All the multi-tasking produces a kind of psychological jitters akin to that point several sips into the latte you didn’t need after all and which now is sending you into caffeine overdose. Ugh.

One of the great things about grad school (though those “halcyon days” were admittedly rather brief and far from the norm in life) was finally feeling as if my life revolved around a few core things. All the classes I was taking fit together, for the most part. Even my job seemed to relate to what I was learning about! My head cleared out like a runner’s on a mini-marathon jog. Suddenly I was able to do things I’d never accomplished before. I refined my writing many levels past the undergrad A-levels of night-before first drafts. I cranked out a thesis, painful draft after draft, some 123 pages in length and a few thousand words. And I was proud of it.

Last summer someone asked me if I thought blogging interfered with work on the novel I was then pretending to expand during my “sabbatical” from full-time, permanent work. To the degree blogging puts the pressure on to maintain initial titillation, I’d say: yes. You lose perspective. You start to focus on short-term goals and one-time click-throughs rather than a long-term, loyal following. You produce a series of punchy witticisms, none of which may add up to much wisdom or perspective. To me that would ultimately be a failure. Unless the wash of entries fits together in a coherent story, what’s the point of preserving all that history? Rather, I would hope, the point of all that blogging is what it teaches you - in which case, the lesson learned may mostly eclipse the journey.

In recording that history, however, blogging may at least produce a healthy discipline. Likewise, I hear, married people actually have better sex because they’re getting lots of practice learning how to please each other (that is, if they have the mindset of humility and openness to learning; otherwise, God help ’em!). With consistency, any discipline gets easier. Your skill grows and you get stronger, better, faster. They may not be the sexiest values, but diligence, persistence and patience are marks of a maturity our culture is in great need of attaining. Besides, it’s such maturity that can take you above the level where all you do is get bored to the next stage where the challenge is fresh and new.

Since I can’t yet apply this advice to sex ... I’m trying it out with this here blog. Entertainment was the last challenge; entertaining advice will be the next. Which leads to two applications:
  1. Once I get closer to a solid draft of the book version of this blog, I’m taking much old content down. No one reads it anyway; why clutter up my archives with a lot of meaningless drivel? The best stuff will survive in memoir form. And as for the future ...
  2. With your help (which is to say, your questions), I hope to turn this blog in a more reader-focused direction. Spiced up, of course, with occasional anecdotal sidenotes to some yet-unmined portion of my past. ;) Send in your questions! Or mention me to your relationally troubled friends.

Office politics

From an email floating round the office this morning:
Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy.
Other than a failure to put sexy in quotes, I haven’t got a real objection to that one (the other statements were worse; what do you expect from an email titled, “Men strike back”?!! Ah, the joys of working in IT).

In other news from the Sexless world (as I postpone my daily update), apparently this blog is the No. 2 website if you’re googling “nude big bouncy mangos.” From Canada, that is. Huh.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Stages of Broadway, pt. 7

Continued from Stages of Broadway, pt. 6. Series began here.

Blogfather writes in a recent post:
... [It] sounds suspiciously like girls just keep guy friends around for the attention — not that I’d ever make THAT charge. And not like I don’t do the reverse — but the fact is if I have a really attractive friend who is a girl, I’m not so much keeping her around for attention as I’m keeping her around to try to get in her pants (and because I like her as a person and appreciate her keen sense of humor).
It is just this ambiguity in friendships that leads to so many pseudo-dates and which has, recently, prompted me to rethink my approach to guy-girl friendships altogether. Marriage has long been the source of meaning in my life, the ultimate hope around which it revolved. Over time this turned me into someone who used men for attention. Who allowed, encouraged and exploited ambiguous friendships with certain men either because doing so provided some of the benefits of dating (without the commitment) or because flirtation with indulgent guy friends was the best I could get. I suspect some of the men who took advantage of this were in a similar situation to mine and also using me in a sense — but that's between them and God, whether or not they know Him.

Recently, however, related to changes I’ve talked about here, I’m ceasing all striving after marriage and relationships. If I don’t learn to gratefully receive my singleness and truly be content in it, how will I one day be content in marriage? There’s no ideal state where you are magically transformed into someone impervious for restlessness. As the Stones said, we can’t get no satisfaction — relationally or otherwise.

Not only am I done with dating (which some claim doesn’t lead to marriage anyway), I am also done with most one-on-one hangouts with men. Most of these, after all, played on ambiguities in our friendship. I will be the first to admit — with guy friends I have generally welcomed, enjoyed and encouraged flirtation and banter. But doing so has sometimes encouraged hopes that probably had no basis (bad for me) and encouraged (I should say enabled) the guy to enjoy certain benefits of dating without the commitment (bad for him). In one case the confusion was great enough, the guy forced me to clarify things before we actually met. I’m grateful for his boldness in doing so.

What I should have been bold enough to do was, in blogging and in person, to find the line between teasing and openly sexual flirtation. I didn’t, because I wanted more than friendship from guys, and coming from them flirtation seemed to indicate sexual interest. Whether or not my hunches were right is largely irrelevent; to join in such conversation with guys ostensibly no more than friends was a failure to guard my heart and to treat them with respect. But I’m done with that now (or trying to be). If you wanna be my friend, look for me in a crowd. Otherwise, be prepared to state your intentions; I’ve owned up to mine.

Missed the beginning of this saga? Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 here.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

The weird gets weirder

Maybe he figures the third time’s a charm:
If you’re a gorgeous woman and have a tremendous personality, you can
definitely be a... City Angel. Become the city angel of the month and win a photo shoot with a NY photographer!

Just submit your bio and a headshot (at no cost) and we will contact you shortly if you’re one of the finalists!

Thanks and good luck!
Three times today I’ve gotten that email. Three.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

An ideal reconsidered

Emailing a colleague yesterday, I wrote:
For a long time I thought the thing that mattered most in a man was intellectual compatibility. Which I defined as the ability to hold a higher-order, shorthand conversation — held together by mere passing references to a number of works* and other conversations of which he would also be aware. This deep mutual understanding enabling us to leap quickly to those rare and special insights available only to those who’ve read deeply of many shared sources.

With time and a hopefully deepening wisdom, however, I’ve realized that while that “quality” of person might do much to stave off loneliness while validating my knowledge and academic commitments, it may not either challenge me as a communicator, or help me to become a better person and grow in humility. There have been men whose wits were as quick as or quicker than mine; men with Ivy League educations and the knowledge to argue articulately about Foucault’s meaning here and that one theory of images there. But I have been most impressed by well-educated pastors whose sermons have forged challenging connections between the Bible and the practical choices I face every day; by the friend who gave up poker because he felt it required him to use a spiritual gift of discernment against others and for his own gain, rather than for their good.
Thoughts on this? Don’t forget that comment link below this can be your chance to have a public voice! ;)

And for the other items of note:
  • I recently learned the Captain has been promoted. To Major. But for the sake of clarity, his old rank will continue on this blog.
  • Secondly, while last month’s contest has closed, there is regretably no winner. Not only was there only one entrant, that entrant got it wrong (quote in question was a back-in-the-day reference to — gasp! — that Jesus freak known for his posters; ahem). Seeing as how contest popularity has been on a major slide, I’m calling it quits on all such calls for reader involvement. I’d much rather take your questions on what to do with the scribbled number of that girl you can’t forget, the in-a-relationship colleague who keeps popping into your daydreams, and so on. Don’t be shy now! Send me your queries and quandaries. I’m beggin’ you.
*Bands, books, films, etc. Hipsterisms may vary but don’t we all tend to want someone nerdy in the same ways we are?

Call ’em the Clinton kids

No real surprise here. Just confirmation of something Sgt. Ex-sessories declared to me in anecdotal fashion on some occasions. Who knew? Perhaps he shoulda been a pollster. Instead of a former Air Force guy with a tongue ring and tricked-out Jeep (but they weren’t accessories, these modifications he’d added; oh no — it was “necessary equipment” all the way).

Coming later today: word on the Sexless contest and a major promotion for the Captain.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Sexless to join ‘world’s first brothel blog’?

You would think I’d have to be making something like this up. You might even think I’ve aped Blogfather in pulling an April Fool’s Joke. But no. Not Anna.

I’m half convinced the “weird-sex mojo” I wrote about yesterday afternoon in a draft of the Sexless book project is responsible for this email received last night. Which I would copy unrevised except that I must, um, protect the innocent and all that. In any case, gentle readers, yours truly has now been invited to link-swap with Real Australian Brothel. Which is a real Australian brothel.
Subject: Real Australian Brothel
From: "Content Manager"
To: "Anna Broadway"
Date: Mar 31 2005, 6:11pm

Dear Sexless in the City,

It’s a unique concept; removing the red light, not the erotica.

Featured in Harper’s Bazaar and the British Sunday Times Magazine, not to mentioned an hour-long documentary, RAB is the world’s first 5-star, purpose built brothel. Our website is at

RAB is committed to providing premium services for our clients and as such we are expanding to include the world’s first Brothel Blog, Escort Roster, RSS Feeds and a Reciprocal links page.

I have reviewed and we are keen to include your website on our links page and wondered if you would be interested in adding a link back to on your links page.

If you are interested in swapping links with us, then please send me your link, title and short description and I will include it on the site. Our link information is below.

RAB Content Manager
I guess you could call it viral marketing at its best ...