sex diaries

The Utterly Single Grad Student

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Utterly Single Grad Student: 25, female, East Village, straight, single.

11:30 a.m.: Walk home from class and notice a grimy guy turn his head 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.: In a hallway, see classmate I hooked up with a few months back. 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 a grad-school classmate she can tell will be horrible from day one.
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.

5 a.m.: Blasted awake by hammering in a neighboring apartment. Wonder why someone’s doing construction at 5 a.m.
5:30 a.m.: Thinking about Jake Gyllenhaal dream, and 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 blog ghostwriting 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.

4 p.m.: Agree via online dating Website to go out with someone I’ve never met 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 Wallstreeter 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 times’ sake. Fall asleep while still considering.

7:45 a.m.: Wake up with a start. Dreamed about long-gone ex-boyfriend again. It’s been over three years. 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 and his cuteness factor slips 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 one 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 in Central Park. Wonder if she knows that some of that stuff might be illegal.

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.
1 a.m.: End up making out on my bed anyway. He’s a good kisser. I think he also has back hair.
1:30 a.m.: Scold myself for being so forward. Wonder if he thinks heavy makeout session on first date means I’m easy.
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 left. And he definitely had back hair.

10 a.m.: Sincerely wish I had gotten to bed earlier. Makeout not worth it. Class drags on. Check cell phone for possible text from Mystery Date Boy.
2 p.m.: Think about Mystery Date Boy some more. Can’t remember how cute he actually was. Do men realize that often we can’t remember what they looked like? Hope he was as cute as wine-foggy memory insists.
3 p.m.: Decide I’m thinking too much about someone I met once. Decide Internet dating is stupid; promise myself to never do it again.

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 stranger from Internet; One 30-minute makeout session with stranger from Internet; zero acts of masturbation; zero text messages from stranger from Internet; two considered acts of vibrator masturbation, both aborted due to lack of motivation or batteries; zero acts of intercourse; three Jake Gyllenhaal boyfriend daydreams.

The Utterly Single Grad Student