Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Titillating Temp Worker: 23, female, Williamsburg, journalist, bisexual, single.
DAY ONE
9:40 a.m.: I wake up clutching my flimsy pillow as if it is a real person. In the two months I’ve been single, I’m beginning to prefer polyurethane to the pricks I’ve been sharing my bed with lately.
6:25 p.m.: I’m thinking about calling this guy I met last week for a date, but do I really want to go out with someone who has dreadlocks? I don’t do anything.
7:32 p.m.: I make sure my bra and underwear match and I’m wearing my favorite Star Wars T-shirt. In other words, I’m feeling lucky tonight … or at least like getting lucky.
9:48 p.m.: My random night leads to hanging out in the hotel room of some band that has a VH1 reality show. I was expecting cocktails and feather boas on the floor. Instead, I get stoners watching HBO.
10:03 p.m.: A strung-out model is staring at me. I can’t tell whether she wants to fight me or fuck me.
DAY TWO
1:30 a.m.: At a falafel stand, a man named Z hits on me and pays for my sandwich. “I can buy you more than that if you come out with me tomorrow,” he says. I’m thinking, um, “No.”
10 p.m.: I’m watching a punk concert. A man with cute glasses approaches me. He asks me out on a date two minutes later. He’s a lawyer. Score!
1:13 a.m.: The lawyer and I take a cab to Levee in
Williamsburg. We play chess, and he beats me twice. I’m okay with it.
2:09 a.m.: We go for a walk to the shore and end up crawling through a big hole in a fence. I lead him onto a piece of concrete sticking out of the water. Then we kiss and kiss and kiss in front of the skyline. And kiss.
2:36 a.m.: I’m walking home with a smile on my face and a rumble in my panties!
DAY THREE
8:20 a.m.: I wake up thinking about the lawyer. I dress for my temp job.
6:23 p.m.: I make sure to sit beside this sexy nerd on the E train. I try to catch her eye until I see she is reading a book called The Perfect Gerbil.
7:49 p.m.: The strange man from the falafel shop Tuesday night calls me for the third time, and for the third time I don’t answer. I only gave him my number because he bought me a sandwich, and I’m feeling kind of weird about that.
9:15 p.m.: I am getting a sore throat and I’m wondering if making out with the lawyer got me sick. Haagen Dazs to the rescue!
9:39 p.m.: I consider masturbating before going to bed, but I can’t because I share a bedroom with my roommate. I think about hauling my silver, glam-rock vibrator to the shower, then decide I’m too tired. Ugh … lights out.
DAY FOUR
3:30 p.m.: I’m completely naked and ironing a wrinkled dress in my living room. I have yet to hang my venetian blinds, and I try to guess how many neighbors have seen me nude. I’m thinking about twenty.
12:10 a.m.: I’m at Beauty Bar trying to hit on a girl with a lip ring. She’s got a French accent and says she doesn’t speak English. Her friend pulls me aside and says, “She’s not really French. She just doesn’t want to talk to you.”
12:14 a.m.: My roommate “accidentally” trips and spills her drink on the French chick’s crotch. Awww. what are friends for?
DAY FIVE
4:30 p.m.: I start getting ready for my date tonight and begin an extensive hair-removal regimen in the shower. I shave my legs, my armpits, and my vag. Then comes the eyebrow tweezing. Boys just don’t understand what we go through for them. [Ed Note: Agreed!]
7:13 p.m.: I’m waiting on a sidewalk in Park Slope for the lawyer to show up. He’s almost fifteen minutes late. Usually this makes me angry, but I like this guy so much I decide to overlook it.
7:38 p.m.: We’re eating in a nice sushi restaurant, and I am wondering how I am going to pay for my half. A woman beside us is eavesdropping because it is obvious this is our first date.
9:08 p.m.: After the appetizers, the fancy sushi rolls and two bottles of sake, the bill comes. It’s $64. The lawyer pays for it. I never expect a date to do this, but I am a little relieved about it tonight.
1:30 a.m.: We’re on the fourth leg of a dive-bar crawl. I discover he has choreographed the crawl so each bar gets us closer to his apartment. I’m so horny I just want to do him in the bathroom.
2:12 a.m.: He asks me to pick out a movie to watch, but instead we put on David Bowie music videos and viciously screw. Thank God, because I haven’t gotten laid since my ex visited two months ago.
DAY SIX
10:10 a.m.: The lawyer and I wake up but take our time getting out of bed. With the workweek coming up, I wonder when I’ll get the chance to lie around with him again. I know it will happen, though. This one is a keeper.
11 a.m.: We have breakfast in a little Mexican joint. He suggests I try scrambled eggs with cactus. I can’t believe I am actually eating a cactus, but I’m enjoying it.
12:23 p.m.: He walks me back to the G train. I kiss him good-bye three times. I wish the man in the ticket booth wasn’t watching us because I want to slip him some tongue.
1:07 p.m.: I walk through my apartment door, and my roommate immediately says, “So, must have gone well.” I smile.
3:25 p.m.: A morbidly obese man tries to pick me up at the laundromat. He’s the second creep to offer me presents this week if I go on a date with him, but I say no, thanks.
DAY SEVEN
2:33 p.m.: My ex-boyfriend from Ohio texts me. While deleting, I glimpse something about how I should impale myself on my ego. Don’t think we’ll be talking again.
6:56 p.m.: I call the lawyer to invite him out for a drink or two in Williamsburg tonight. He says yes, and I proceed to do a silly little dance in my bedroom after we hang up.
11:15 p.m.: The lawyer said he’d call when he was on his way, but I decided to call for an update. He didn’t pick up. “I can’t believe I dressed up for this,” I say into my roommate’s arms as she hugs me.
11:54 p.m.: He finally calls me back, saying his phone died, which led him on a hunt for a charger all throughout the East Village just so he could call me. He wants to meet up in my neighborhood. I am tired, but of course, say yes.
3:04 a.m.: As we are walking back to my apartment, one of the local bartenders smoking a cigarette outside winks at me. He has seen me walk home alone time after time. But not tonight!
Total: One hookup; two nights of sex; two offers of goods in exchange for dates; two declinations of offers of goods in exchange for dates; one masturbation attempt foiled by roommate; one pissy text message from ex.
