Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Solo Filmmaker Looking for Harmony: 26, Astoria, female, single.
8:30 a.m.: Woken up by vibration somewhere in my sheets.
8:31 a.m.: It’s my phone. I just started dating again after a two-year hiatus. I don’t answer in fear that it’s one of my dates.
8:40 a.m.: Can’t get back to sleep. Go pee. Sore from masturbating last night. Haven’t had sex in 23 months.
8:45 a.m.: Check e-mail. Received eight matches from eHarmony. Just signed up last night, so I’m super-excited. One guy is holding a little puppy. Begin to figure out how eHarmony works. Send “1st Questions” to the puppy guy.
9 a.m.: “Close” a few of the matches. eHarmony asks for an explanation. I choose the “Other” option, which really means they are too short or ugly.
1:30 p.m.: Get ready for A Mighty Heart premiere.
7 p.m.: Show up to the premiere. Get in line with a hundred tiny women in tiny dresses. I feel like having a slice of cheesecake on their behalf.
7:45 p.m.: The producer introduces the cast. Angelina Jolie stands up. I feel like eating a whole cake on her behalf.
10:30 p.m.: Roommate joins me for a late dinner at Planet Hollywood. The cute server lingers at our table. But I could never date someone at PH, so I don’t encourage him.
8:46 a.m.: Check e-mail: Have eight more matches from eHarmony. Can’t be bothered to post questions, answer questions, or read profiles. Hooking up with the Planet Hollywood server is starting to look attractive.
8:48 a.m.: Read a new e-mail from Sonny, a guy that contacted me through Craigslist a month ago. He’s been after me for weeks about meeting up. Keep postponing.
6:25 p.m.: Taking a break from work, I log into eHarmony. A super-cute guy has “Closed” me. Hope that doesn’t mean I’m too fat or ugly.
12:10 a.m.: I quietly masturbate, so as not to disturb my roommate next door. Come twice but get distracted by my squeaking bed.
8:45 a.m.: My eHarmony matches are adding up, and I’m not staying on top of them.
8:50 a.m.: “Less is more,” proclaims my horoscope. No shit.
9 a.m.: Decide to eliminate all the guys that don’t seem perfect. If they are shorter than me, they go. If I don’t like their picture, they go. If they list NFL as a “Top Priority,” they go.
3:30 p.m.: Meet with my OB/GYN. A recent smear has come back with persistent cell abnormalities, and she does a biopsy on the spot.
4 p.m.: Recover from a near blackout and make my way into my doctor’s office, where she tells me the grand total of the non-insured procedure: $1,800.
4:05 p.m.: Recover from a near second blackout and metaphorically shake my fist at the U.S. health-care system. Also shake my fist at the men I have slept with, who haven’t a clue what I’m going through.
4:30 p.m.: Wander around Soho in a daze, looking for something to eat. My cervix feels like a truck hit it, and I remind myself to never, ever have sex without a condom.
Midnight: Head for bed and am distracted by my keyboard. For the next five hours I compose a song to my ex-boyfriend, until I can stay awake no longer.
11:40 a.m.: I wake up from a dream about cookies getting chocolate-chip biopsies. If my dreams hold the answer, then the question must be “What’s for lunch?”
12:10 p.m.: Nothing like cookies and eHarmony to cheer the spirits. I have nine more matches. So many men, so little time.
12:50 p.m.: Settle in for a spa day with the girls and a Sex and the City marathon. While there wouldn’t be a show without all the sex, we are amazed how many people they manage to sleep with.
2:30 p.m.: Sarah and I discuss SJP’s body: It looks likes she tries too hard and is far too “cut.” I eat more cookies.
2:45 p.m.: We conclude that trying to be fit is not sexy; fit by default of your activity is sexy. We prefer a man with a yoga body, rather than a gym body.
7:45 p.m.: We’ve opened a bottle of wine, and Sarah proposes placing a Craigslist ad: three guys for three girls. I think the idea in ingenious. As long as they do yoga.
1 a.m.: I am horny and want to masturbate but am still sore from the biopsy.
8:37 a.m.: I get up early for yoga class and quickly check my e-mail. Decide to quickly do a clearing before class. A guy in patent-leather pants, who owns a “large apparel company.” Gone. A guy named Focker from Hicksville. Gone.
10:45 a.m.: My sweet yoga teacher helps a girl with down dog, and it looks like he’s doing her from behind. Close my eyes and pretend it’s me.
11:30 a.m.: Confess to thinking about him doing her doggy style to my friend in the class, who fesses up and is relieved that I also had un-yogic thoughts.
10:45 p.m.: We watch the season premiere of Flight of the Conchords. When a girl dumps the main character, his roommate asks if he “walked on the outside.” [Ed: On the curb side of the sidewalk, which is good manners.] My roommates laugh, but I tell them it’s definitely something I notice; my brother does it all the time. They look at me like I’m crazy.
11:10 p.m.: Somehow conversation turns to the subject of strippers. I insist it is a rite of passage for all young men. The girls don’t agree. Now I’m really starting to feel out of it.
12:30 a.m.: Decide to give my sore bits one more day off and then I’ll go to town with my sexual frustration.
9:13 a.m.: Seven more matches eHarmony matches, which I promptly erase. I’m over it.
9:50 a.m.: When I get to yoga, I have a text message from Sonny asking about my weekend. Try to decide if he’s sweet and persistent or creepy and a stalker.
5:15 p.m.: I get ready for the New York Women in Film and Television event, celebrating successful makeup, hair, and wardrobe designers.
8 p.m.: The reception begins, and I make the rounds. As it’s a female organization celebrating costumes and fashion, the only straight men are working the kitchen.
11 p.m.: Exhausted from the event, I pass out without a sexy thought.
9:15 a.m.: All I want is a relaxing morning sans online dating.
9:45 a.m.: Receive and ignore a call from Sonny, inviting me to spend tomorrow with him. He’s a middle-aged doctor that probably knows how to treat a lady well, but I have decided that may also be stalker material. Think I will have to pass.
11 a.m.: Late to hot yoga. My mind wanders to other hot and half-naked activities when I set up my mat by a hairless, buff guy.
12:30 p.m.: Class is over, and I swear I see the hairless buff guy checking me out. He’s gone when I come out of the locker room. Not that I would have done anything about it.
2:15 p.m.: Perplexed by a Craigslist e-mail that comes in, an ad apologizing for the delay in responding. It’s from not one, but three guys.
5:30 p.m.: When I see Sarah, I ask her if she placed the three-way ad on Craigslist, but she didn’t. Wonder how the three cute guys found their way to me and if it’s too good to be true.
5:35 p.m.: Start replying to the three-way but decide to sleep on it. In the meantime, I clear out my eHarmony and send a personal message to the puppy guy.
Midnight: Masturbate while thinking of nothing in particular, quickly come repeatedly and fall asleep.
Total: Two acts of masturbation; one emergency cervix biopsy; one $1,800 bill from emergency cervix biopsy; one five-hour composing session in memory of ex-boyfriend; dozens of interested suitors on eHarmony.