The Emotionally Detached Trust-Funder–Editor

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Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Emotionally Detached Trust-Funder–Editor: 23, female, Upper East Side, straight, single.

DAY ONE
12:45 p.m.: I meet up with a college friend and her boyfriend. They ask me to go to a jazz show with them. Her boyfriend says he's bringing one of his frat brothers so that I won't look like a third wheel.
7 p.m.: En route to show, contemplate my last boyfriend, a suit with a penis. I ended it abruptly six months ago after the realization that he was good for two things, sex and cooking spaghetti. He didn't take it well. He's currently laid off from a finance job, which makes me feel bad.
7:15 p.m.: I arrive late to bar even though I live across the street. Frat Boy is hideous and has a soul patch. A young Howie Mandel. I'm turned off completely. I realize that coming alone to these things is fine.
8:30 p.m.: I start drinking shots of Jack Daniels to avoid Frat Boy.

10:35 p.m.: Meet mildly famous actor at jazz show! Tipsy.
11:30 p.m.: Making out in corner booth with Mildly Famous Guy.
1:30 a.m.: We have good porn sex twice at his apartment in Chelsea. He kisses me good night and says that I should stay over. Not really sure what to think about being asked to stay. Seemed a little boyish, but I'm not about to resist these epic high-thread-count sheets of his.

DAY TWO
11:30 a.m.: He wakes me up with a kiss, and I am slightly weirded out. He is sweet, but then again I am the most emotionally detached woman in the history of New York.
11:45 a.m.: We shower together and go at it in and out of the shower. For some reason, I'm thinking about a dirty version of a Slip 'N Slide the whole time. Weird.
1:30 p.m.: He puts me in a cab back to my apartment and gives me an inappropriate kiss good-bye. This is when I begin to ponder if it was a One-Nighter or a potential Multi-Nighter.
3 p.m.: On the way to get groceries and liquor, I see group of prep-school boys. One's a Nate Archibald wannabe. I have filthy thoughts of hot schoolgirl sex. I feel like a cougar at 23.

DAY THREE
10:15 a.m.: Facebook friend request from Frat Boy. Decline.
12:30 p.m.: I'm out at lunch with hot co-workers. I hate everyone in this office and don't know why I'm working here when I should be living off my rich parents like the rest of my friends. My office fantasies never go beyond copier sex. And that's how I want it.
9 p.m.: Mildly Famous Guy picks me up at my apartment. I maul him in the cab on the way to the restaurant. His hands go up my dress, but we stop before it gets too hot.
11:20 p.m.: Back at my apartment for adult beverages.
Midnight: Adult activities continue, we break a lamp and he snaps my thong off, athletic sex continues. Definitely a Multi-Nighter.

DAY FOUR
8:30 a.m.: I think about kicking out Mildly Famous Guy so I can act like I'm doing something productive. Instead I kiss him good-bye and let him sleep.
9:45 a.m.: On my way to work, I send him an innuendo-filled text about why I had to leave for work. He texts back almost instantly and says that he'll be filming for the next few days, so expect something big at the end of the week. I'm giddy and intensely horny.
6 p.m.: I decide to raid my parents' fridge for quality food and booze. I see the mildly famous guy on TV. My inner fangirl comes out.

DAY FIVE
10 a.m.: I have a beyond-boring day at the office and spend most of the day ordering clothes and shoes off the Internet. God, I love having a trust fund.
9:45 p.m.: I have a super-awkward run-in with the little sister of a kid from my old prep school. It's weird that she remembers me. She also got sort of fat. I didn't, however.
11:50 p.m.: At a bar. Get hit on by a 50-year-old. I give him the number of my fat gay friend and decide to call it a night. I can't wait for the profanity-filled voice mail I will receive from the friend later.

DAY SIX
10:30 a.m.: A co-worker says something ridiculous about how he knows his way around a toolbox, and I can't decipher whether it's a pass at me or he's just a meathead. Tool.
6 p.m.: Mildly Famous Guy calls me and tells me to meet him tomorrow at noon in some weird Alice in Wonderland–themed restaurant. I'm sort of creeped out by his cuteness. But then again, he must get all his lines from the show he works on. TV-set-fantasy thoughts are peaking.

DAY SEVEN
Noon: We meet outside this Alice in Wonderland thing and eat and talk. Well, he talks.
2:30 p.m.: Afternoon Delight to the fullest extent. In the daylight I realize that he has a roommate who lives on the other side of the apartment. I wonder how much money TV people really make if they need a roommate in an okay apartment.
6:30 p.m.: He makes a comment about dinner, so we dress again and head out. I'm always eating or drinking in his company. I hope he thinks I'm in it to win it, not just for food. And by it, I mean sex.
10:30 p.m.: After dinner we go back to my apartment and just make out/touch everywhere. I kiss him good-bye and tell him I have things to do (this!). I'm smitten, mostly for the pleasurable things he does, but him too.

Totals: Zero acts of masturbation; five acts of intercourse with mildly famous actor; one bad setup; one raiding of rich parental refrigerator for date supplies.