Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Temporarily Celibate Actress: 23, female, Astoria, straight, single.
10:13 a.m.: Co-worker from my part-time job resurfaces from her walk of shame and begins to give me details of her date last night. I am living vicariously through her. I walk away before I get TMI (too much information).
12:04 p.m.: Working out at the gym during lunch has sufficed to get rid of my sexual frustration, since I don’t seem to do sex lately. I’ve only slept with one guy and am singly in pursuit of lucky number two. The gym provides eye candy, although working out in the theater district leaves me constantly questioning what team they’re on.
12:23 p.m.: Male co-worker is scoping me out as I am elliptical-ing and wording lines to myself to memorize my audition for the end of the week. He asks me if I’m working later. I would probably hook up with him if he didn’t already have a kid.
2 p.m.: Just got an e-mail about a speed-dating event this weekend. E-mailed one of my last single female friends to see if she thought it would be a scary experience and if it seemed too desperate. I wonder if any decent people would actually go to something like this. Humph.
1:22 p.m.: There are two things about the gym that I hate, and they both involve the women’s locker room: the women who walk around naked and shouldn’t and the women who walk around in their Skivvies and make you wish you looked like them.
1:41 p.m.: I hate how I still think about my ex. The song that was on his MySpace page just played in the subway, and the back of the guy’s head totally looked like him. I really wish I could say I didn’t think about him. I do. A lot.
11:01 p.m.: Just got done watching Lipstick Jungle. Why can’t guys like Kirby exist and not be jerks? I would let him have his way with me in a millisecond.
7:18 p.m.: My weeklong dream of being the sexy starlet who has an affair with the hot producer was just crushed at the audition I had been preparing for all week. Old, unattractive, etc. The audition went fine.
7:43 p.m.: I phone my roommate to tell her about the audition. She understands the depths of a single girl’s dreams.
7 p.m.: My roommate’s friend tells me he’d like to take me to dinner. I find out later he has a fiancée. WTF?
10:12 p.m.: Facebook’s news feed notified me that my long-distance crush was tagged in new pictures from the Super Bowl. I click over immediately, and find…his hand located on the thigh of the girl sitting next to him. And by “girl” I mean “not me.” I was totally planning on making him number two on “the list” when he came to visit. Scratch that. There’s a total lack of offers on my end. Life is so unfair.
10:39 a.m.: Had the weirdest dream of my ex last night. We were hooking up while he had a girlfriend (nothing new there), but then my mom found out! I’m sure a therapist would have a field day deciphering that one. The dream catcher in my room does not work.
1:45 p.m.: I walk to the dollar store and scope out a potential hookup. I think I have a serious problem: I cannot even walk into the dollar store without trying to scope out a potential hookup!
6:47 p.m.: Friend never got back to me about the speed-dating e-mail, and I feel too embarrassed to bring it up. Guess I’m staying in tonight.
7:37 p.m.: A guy came into my job today with a fedora. I am in love! Not sure if he’s straight. If he isn’t, I can see our interactions being very reminiscent of a scene from Clueless.
8:14 p.m.: Really cute French guy comes in to work. We have a chat. He’s going to Vegas for a week. I make active plans to seduce him when he gets back. This is the sum total of my love life.
9:49 p.m.: Co-worker tells me that I have a “secret admirer.” By the look on her face, I know she means the old, short, dark-from-too-much-fake-baking co-worker. I’m lacking in the sex department, but even I have standards.
12:52 p.m.: Saw a guy at the gym that looked like fedora guy, minus the fedora. I went into stalker mode and went to the front desk to inquire his name. Not him. I am completely OOC (out of control).
1:23 p.m.: Friend whom I e-mailed about the speed dating calls to invite me to go to her friend’s birthday party. The friend is 26 and one of three male triplets. This gives me two impressions: (1) She knows how long it’s been since I’ve had any sort of interaction with the opposite sex and how desperately single I am, which is true. (2) She knows I’ve been eyeing younger guys lately and is disapproving. Noted. I’m thinking she did get that e-mail after all.
10:01 p.m.: Caught up on Cashmere Mafia online. New hottie alert! Looks just like Kirby. I’m melting in my computer chair. Loving television’s casting decisions lately.
11:38 p.m.: In a not-uncommon panic that I am wasting away my sexual peak, I Google “sexual peak of women.” The good news is that I have until my thirties. The bad news is that I am still wasting my youth with no game.
Totals: Zero acts of intercourse; zero acts of masturbation; zero orgasms; two spontaneous meetings with potential husbands who may well be gay; two acts of reminiscing about the ex.