I had the horrible idea of starting a blog at around 5 a.m. this morning while watching Karate Kid III. I lie…I wasn’t actually watching KK3, it just happened to be on at the time. TV as background noise has been a requisite part of much of my alone time for as long as I can remember…but I digress. The idea came to me after clicking through a series of random links led me to “The Overserved Ivy Banker Chick” , New York Magazine’s chosen Sex Diary of the week. How I ended there after reading an “article” about hair dye on 43things.com, checking out Student Body Blog, reading several depressing articles on Whitney Port and subsequently stalking her/LC/Lo’s Myspace pages, and catching wind of the embarassment (lovable embarassment) that is Socialiterank.com is beyond me, but am I ever glad that I did. The entertaining story of “The Overserved Ivy Banker Chick” led me to countless musings about her love/lust-life and mine; her totals after a week of keeping score =
One act of intercourse with a Barclay’s trader; two vivid sex dreams; one failed booty call from giggling senator’s son; near-constant workplace fantasies about work crush; six fantasies about best guy friend.
Insatiable as always I looked for more content and the site delivers: Sex Diary entries from all assortments of New Yorkers. I don’t get off on the descriptions of sex, but I have a weird fascination with the inner workings of other believed-to-be-real people; after so much scripted “reality” TV a person has to question the legitimacy of these semi-explicit, too excited to be true week-long booty calls.