Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Super-Single Graduate Student: 24, female, East Village, straight, very, very single.
DAY ONE
11:30 a.m.: Walk home from class and notice a grimy guy turn his head a few times to stare at my boobs. Watch him stop on the sidewalk and continue to stare. Brush past him and silently will something heavy to fall on his head.
3 p.m.: See classmate I hooked up with a few months back in the hallway. Laugh sadly to myself. He was horrible.
3:03 p.m.: Realize that being single for two years will make a girl susceptible to hooking up with grad-school classmate she can tell will be horrible.
3:05 p.m.: Remember when I used to have standards.
8:51 p.m.: Type in “live Webcam” on Google out of sheer boredom. See the thousands of hits advertising Live.Nude.Shows! Consider clicking on one but eventually decide against it. I want a relationship, not live footage of some girl’s boobs.
DAY TWO
5 a.m.: Blasted awake by hammering in a neighboring apartment. Wonder why someone’s doing construction at 5 a.m. while simultaneously wishing I could go back to that dream about Jake Gyllenhaal.
5:30 a.m.: Still thinking about how Jake Gyllenhaal would be an awesome boyfriend. Think about how he’d totally rub my feet after a long day. Think about how he wouldn’t be like all these New York guys I keep meeting who are 29 and have no life plan.
5:31 a.m.: Decide Jakey G. totally has a life plan.
7:45 p.m.: Stumble in the door after the longest day in the history of life. Even surprise appearance of cute professor in class could not make things better. Throw aside grad-school homework and busy myself with freelance blog-writing about celebrities … because I’ve got to pay the bills somehow.
9 p.m.: Fall asleep at my computer. Wake up and feel like a nerd. Crawl back into bed and wish for Jake Gyllenhaal dream again. Feel certain that fantasizing about movie stars as boyfriends is a pitiful sign.
DAY THREE
4 p.m.: Agree to meet an Internet date I’ve never met before for drinks on Saturday night. Press “send” on my e-mail and instantly start to freak out. He said he was an actor. I don’t date actors. Especially not New York actors.
6 p.m.: Comb through thesis notes in an Avenue A coffee shop. Get distracted by the fact that this coffee shop is overrun with dudes in skinny jeans. I hate skinny jeans.
6:30 p.m.: Go back to reading thesis notes. Wonder if there is anyone in this city who isn’t a hipster or a Wall Streeter or an actor/musician. Decide I’d like to date a teacher.
10:45 p.m.: Wonder why my sex drive is so incredibly low. Consider taking out the vibrator for old time’s sake. Fall asleep while still considering.
DAY FOUR
7:45 a.m.: Wake up with a start. Dreamed about long-gone ex-boyfriend again. Decide to seriously consider seeing a shrink about these dreams.
9 a.m.: Cute curly-haired guy behind desk at the gym is half-asleep in his chair. I wake him up accidentally. He looks pissed, which slips his cuteness factor down ten notches. He’s no longer in contention to be my next life partner.
9:35 a.m.: Catch middle-aged man staring at me. Kinda grossed out but trapped on elliptical. End workout 1 minute early because middle-aged man is seriously skeevy.
7:45 p.m.: Girl at work talks incessantly about a new boy she’s dating. Can’t understand why she thinks I need a play by play of everything she did with him at Central Park. Wonder if she knows that some of that stuff might be illegal.
DAY FIVE
10:30 p.m.: Meet mystery date at restaurant. During the three-hour conversation, Mystery Date Boy wavers between cool, enlightened, and might-be-crazy. Can’t pin down which.
1 a.m.: End up making out on my bed anyway. He’s a good kisser. But he also might have back hair.
1:30 a.m.: Scold myself for being so forward. Wonder if he thinks heavy make-out session on first date means I’m easy. Then remind self that it was only making out.
1:35 a.m.: Decide if I’m easy, he’s easy too.
2 a.m.: Go to sleep in my bed, alone. Mystery Date has just left. And he definitely had back hair.
DAY SIX
10 a.m.: Sincerely wish I had gotten to bed earlier. Class drags on. Check cell phone for possible text from Mystery Date Boy.
2 p.m.: Think about Mystery Date Boy some more. No texts :(. Can’t remember how cute he actually was. Hope he was as cute as wine-foggy memory insists.
3 p.m.: Decide I’m thinking about someone I met once too much. Decide Internet dating is stupid — promise myself to never do it again.
DAY SEVEN
8:30 a.m.: Walk past the male portion of NYU swim team on my way to the cardio room at gym. Notice some are in Speedos. Morning gets instantly better.
2 p.m.: Think about Mystery Date Boy. Now completely unable to remember his hotness quotient.
5 p.m.: Catch the last half of Unfaithful on HBO. Decide it’s kind of like watching porn.
10:45 p.m.: Light candle. Decide to take the vibrator out of retirement. Realize it won’t turn on. Search for AA batteries.
11 p.m.: Give up on finding batteries and hearing from Mystery Date. A girl’s gotta sleep sometime.
Totals: One blind date with Internet actor; one act of bedroom making-out with Internet date; two abandoned acts of masturbation, one due to the widely feared failure of batteries; one encounter with previous horrific hookup partner; one all-consuming ongoing fantasy about Jake Gyllenhaal.
