NYMag’s Sex Diary, this week’s a particularly good one

Full original post here. My favorite parts:

The Jewish Carrie

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Jewish Carrie: 32, single, Gramercy, editor and blogger, single-as-fuck, straight.

DAY ONE
6:03 p.m.: At home and still horny from work, but too tired to drop trou. Skip dinner, and instead drink a beer in bed while watching last week’s Lost.
8:02 p.m.: Blog about Band Dude and mom’s phone call. My life has become an open book, and I wonder if I should have more shame.
9:59 p.m.: Moment of panic: I am going to die alone.

DAY TWO
10:55 a.m.: Blog about complications of phone sex with Band Dude.
11:15 a.m.: Friend replies to blog post, “What don’t you share with the Internet? You are turning into Julia Allison.”
9:15 p.m.: Text from Band Dude: “Hey lady. How are you on this fine evening?”
11:17 p.m.: I take a pic of my cleavage with my phone and send it to him.

DAY THREE
10:52 a.m.: At work, iTunes shuffle plays James Taylor’s Shower the People, and I am brought back to a moment of grocery shopping with my practically-engaged-to-ex-boyfriend from a year ago.
10:54 a.m.: Check ex-boyfriend’s blog. Dorkus. Decide that I am glad we broke up even though I really fucking miss having sex on a nightly basis.
8:20 p.m.: See cute guy on the subway. Imagine my future post on SubwayCrush.com (“you were reading a Dave Eggers novel on the L train…”), knowing I won’t actually post.

DAY FOUR
9:48 p.m.: Male friend pulls me aside to confide in me that pseudo-ex told him that I look hot and he wants to bone me. I am flattered. “Don’t do it,” male friend advises.
9:57 p.m.: Plagued by dilemma, I pull male friend aside and tell him I need to know everything he said. Male friend says that pseudo-ex thinks I’m amazing in bed. I am so having sex with pseudo-ex tonight based solely on this fact. I rock at sex.
1 a.m.: The gang drunkenly heads to La Esquina for soft-shell tacos. While waiting in line, I feel pseudo-ex’s hands creep up my dress.
1:54 a.m.: Groping/making out in cab ride back to my place.
2:15–3:22 a.m.: We have sex twice.

DAY FIVE
10:11 a.m.: Morning sex with no talk, and I receive lovely oral.
11:34 a.m.: Above, repeated.
12:15 p.m.: While he gets dressed, we talk very openly about what happened between us. I cannot expect anything from him as he is a douche-bag wanker, yet I am curious why he can’t commit. He can’t answer the question. Boys.
12:29 p.m.: He is lying on my bed fully dressed. Why has he not left?
12:49 p.m.: “Want to have sex again?” I ask. “I was thinking about it…” He answers and tells me that he’s on the antidepressant Wellbutrin, which he finds makes him super-horny. OMG! I am on Wellbutrin, too! More sex.
1:30 p.m.: Pseudo-ex leaves.
2:23 p.m.: I am plagued by one thing. Pseudo-ex went down on me. He never did that once when we were dating. Why did he go down on me??? I cannot figure it out.
4:22 p.m.: It is a sign. We are getting back together.
5: 03 p.m.: Male friend from last night signs on to instant messenger, and I ask him if the oral sex has any significance. “No,” he says.

DAY SIX
9:58 p.m.: Start to wonder if I can seriously go through with phone sex. What does one say?
9:59: p.m.: Google “phone sex,” and am horrified by search results. Tiredly pass out before his call.

DAY SEVEN
11 a.m.: Meet cousin at Spring Street Natural, where I update her on my life, and admit to having slept with the pseudo-ex. She says, “I’m worried about you.” I order another Bloody Mary.
12:45 p.m.: Meet my roommate at Agent Provocateur to lust after naughty lingerie. I’m feeling pretty good after two Bloody Marys which doesn’t bode well for my wallet: I end up slamming down $175 for a black quarter-cup bra.
2:29 p.m.: Back at home I take out new bra. Why did I buy this? I realize bra was an incredibly stupid purchase, seeing as it most definitely cannot be worn with any piece of clothing. Nor can it be worn for a random hookup, as it’s a “special” thing. I have no “special” people to surprise. Shitfucker.