New York Magazine can be counted on to cover the hard-hitting issues that affect New Yorkers most deeply. This week, in the Sex and Love issue, the magazine went the extra mile to discover how incredibly nasty New Yorkers are. There was an article about the politics of MILFhood, another about hipsters talking about their bedroom steez, and, my favorite, The Sex Diaries, wherein “regular” New Yorkers write down every sexual encounter or thought they have in one week. No wonder 40,000 people in New York have Chlamydia. I think most of those cases were personally distributed by the people profiled this week.
For the sake of full disclosure, I am of the opinion that too much sex leads to insanity, baldness, hairy palms, stuttering and dirty sheets. But I’m willing to concede that an enormous amount of fucking can be a healthy part of a balanced lifestyle. You know, just not my lifestyle. Or the lifestyle of anyone I know. And if I did know people who did what these people do, I would probably need to don a glove to shake their hands. I’m like, since when did “polyamorous” become a familiar adjective? It’s not even in my spellcheck.
So I thought I would just throw my sex diary out there. So everyone else would feel better about theirs.
The Cynical Blogger: female, 23, proletarian, Park Slope, single.
Saturday: Team of five male friends surrounded me at all times, preventing all possibility of a hook up.
Sunday: Nothing.
Monday: Watched Mets game.
Tuesday: Nothing.
Wednesday: Got groped on the subway.
Thursday: Played bocce with a very hot man, who may or may not have been part of the Aryan Underground Bocce League.
Friday: Nothing.
Why is everyone getting groped on the subway but me?
What am I doing wrong?
You’re probably acting too aloof. I like to really get out there with the people, hike up my skirt and do a little dance. It’s all about your own personal style though.