Post-breakup, a writer's first instinct it to write or blog it out. This is their nature. It's totally fine if kept confined to a Word doc or a friends-only LiveJournal blog or whatever.

But still, you must work, work—as Chekhov said. Maybe you're freelancing, and you're miserable, and all you can think about is this fucking ex of yours who keeps popping up in the damndest of places—whether it's their byline in a magazine or at the corner deli or at a media party. And hey, why not mine your life for stories? That's what your writing teacher at that night class at the New School told you!

You might even earn some sweet freelance cash from a personal essay—or if you're really good, a Modern Love in the Sunday Times, which is the pinnacle of the breakup essay. You can then use the $500 to buy an awesome dress, which is sort of like an investment in a future relationship. (It's easier to catch flies at media parties with honey!)

And so you write. Whether what you write is good or bad, the fact is that it's published, and it's out there. The written-about ex might form a rebuttal. They might not. They might get a six-figure book deal which allows them to feature you in any damned essay they want, like Ms. Gould! That essay might get leaked and it might contain certain bits about your sex life or your musculature.

Of course, there have been other, more luminary, writer couplings. Sartre and de Beauvoir, Plath and Hughes, the Bloomsbury Group. Do not pay attention to them. They had no high-speed Internet.

And so the vicious cycle continues. But enough about work. You doing anything Saturday night?

In short: Pilot wrote an article about a topic that interested her, which was obviously just a huge mistake, due to the nature of the blogosphere. She was attacked in various on-line arenas—I mean, we're all desperate for content these days. We all need to chime in with an opinion, and then commenters can have their opinion, and thus—the status quo is upheld. (The status quo—"whore!"; "Feminism: Is It Being Set Back 30 Years?"—is just so incredibly boring.) Plus, there's a bit of bitchy media-jealousy thrown in—"she only did this article to make a name for herself, etc." Yeah, so?

From Pilot's Facebook page:

"After I wrote a first-person exploratory expose, an independent report I spent a year on profiling high-end call girls, and posing as one myself, for the love of the "gonzo" form. The reactions, once published were beyond my expectations. Though there were plenty of readers and editors who support me, those who chose to question my journalistic intent did so, quite viciously....

Here's an excerpt from one well-known blogger, who met me on a Sunday, and interviewed me for over an hour about my experience, reporting on call-girls, and to discuss my thoughts on the mixed reactions from readers who read my piece:

Blogger Babe 1: "How important to you is it to have this interview published? Honestly i dont think it's going to do much in the blogosphere, and i'm not sure it's right for my blog — although of course i respect you and think you discuss your topics and work intelligently but, i've been doing this for a while, and I'm pretty sure the only way this material would attract attention— if it does — would be in a negative way. if they find something to make fun of again, or just use it as a platform to go on the same old rants. I dont think we're going to change anyone's opinion I'm tired and don't have time (sorry — it's the truth!) 2. it's not quite the right content for us 3. if it was really critical to you, i'd do it, but i dont think it is."

The other blogger acknowledged that I am not in fact, a "desperate, young aspiring journalist", who wrote a story about the oldest, still most taboo profession, just to make a name for herself", but all told—-said she couldn't publicly acknowledge this."

Honestly, I don't know who the blog editors she's referring to are, but if her re-telling is accurate, you all sound like a bunch of little old ladies. Also: doesn't anyone here ever want to read about worlds they have no access to and know little to nothing of? That's basically what the piece was about.

Oh, you know who wrote a really great investigative book about prostitution—from low-end street girls to the highest levels of prostitution and pimping? (At the highest levels, it was explained, very little money changes hands.) Gail Sheehy—wife of the late New York magazine founder Clay Felker and successful writer in her own right. I'm pretty sure she did not have to deal with this bullshit when her investigation about the landlords of the prostitution hotels in Hell's Kitchen was published—but only because blogs weren't invented yet in the 1975.

"She says she can even have vaginal orgasms"—which actually puts her ahead of quite a few biological women. She also "gets hit on or asked out about five times a week," which also puts her waaaay ahead of most of the anecdotal evidence I've collected amongst female friends. Damn, girl! Keep on doing whatever it is you're doing, extra baggage or no baggage.

[Photo: James Hamilton for the Observer]

...she asked him if he thought a tourist could survive alone in the jungle.

"He laughed and told me I was nuts," says [Stephanie] Gerson, 27, who works part-time in online marketing for a chocolate company in San Francisco.

Then he told her that he'd grown up in the jungle in a nearby indigenous community. That was all Gerson needed to hear. Although she wasn't attracted to the guy, Gerson flirted right back in the hopes that he would be her jungle tour guide...

"It was amazing," Gerson says of her adventure in 2000. "We built our homes out of palm leaves, I saw animals I'd never seen before, he taught me the medicinal properties of all the plants, we picked fruit off the trees, we swam with and ate piranhas. And, of course, we had sex ... for almost two weeks."

Some might call that little arrangement "dating" rather than "bartering sex for stuff or services," as CNN does, but whatever. We're not one to pick nits where sweaty jungle sex is concerned, particularly since this was the only bona fide example the poor freelancer managed to find.

The story also includes a 39-year-old contractor who claims he is constantly hit on by his married clients. They find his toolbelt sexy! Maybe/probably true, but the guy doesn't actually take the women up on their offers, so he doesn't count.

The rest of the article is shamelessly padded — with quotes from a research scientist published in the journal Evolutionary Psychology, a doctor at the Institute for Sex Therapy and an author with a book called "Will Cook For Sex." Also, a University of Michigan sex survey.

Boring! But oh, right, that stuff is necessary, because without it a collection of sex stories wouldn't be serious journalism, it would be porn!

[CNN]

(Photo via this video, which cannot possibly be an actual construction catalog.)

A tipster forwarded us the following text, which they say is an entry that was deleted from Tucker Max's ex-girlfriend's blog. We don't follow the man's love life closely enough to know whether this is true, but the blog does have Tucker Max listed as its contact person. Portions of this post have been floating around the internet for some time now. That's our disclaimer. Now here's the alleged Tucker Max love experience:

Humiliating
Last night Tucker blew me off. Again.

I went insane. I cut off all my hair with kitchen scissors like Frida Khalo.
Today I examined the fallout (actually quite cute and flippy. I am good at
everything). I also thought, "Bunny... there is something terribly awry. Why
are you so angry? Why have you become a bitter and horrible person since you
met Tucker?"

Today, while I'm working, Tucker is hovering over me asking me the same
question.

I have decided to make an itemized list of reasons why I might want to cut
off all my hair like a rape victim.

[Note: This is truly humiliating. If anyone were to make a medicine to cure
low self-esteem, I'd take it in spades; I'd do the 10k walk for closet
self-loathers, and wear the empty wine bottle lapel pin. I wish to God these
FACTS were fabricated or embellished, but the awful truth is that they are
not. I only hope this helps the other girls who don't like themselves].

What it is like to date Tucker Max.

-You will get fried chicken for your birthday. Later that night when you
both go to a bar, you will want a diet coke, but won't get one because that
is one less beer that he can drink.

-He will hang up on your favorite aunt, and be stunned when you get upset
that he referred to your mother as "that fucking bitch" because she called
you at a late hour.

-He will scream at you because you don't like the instant coffee he bought
you.

-He will never kiss you, and barely fuck you, even if you beg him to for
months. You are now the Virgin Mary. He will still try to coerce crazy
whores into coming to Chicago to fuck him. He will kiss them because they
are whores, and don't you know that you're only supposed to give good
passionate sex to women that you don't know or give a shit about? I didn't
know that either.

-You will beg him to take a shower, which he will not do. But he will shave
his face to have long make-out sessions with any random girl.

-You will read every piece of writing he has ever done and be supportive of
all his creative outlets. When you then ask him to read your own novel he
will drop it after chapter one because it's a waste of his time. He's not
good at editing.

-You will give him the greatest head of his life on a regular basis. He will
still suck in bed.

-He will make sure you know that you aren't very hot, only sort of cute, and
that your head is too big for the rest of your body. You also have
unattractive dark circles under your eyes and your tits are too small. He
will never compliment you.

-You will be bi-sexual and okay with him sleeping with other women, but this
will not be enough. He needs freedom.

-If he is an insensitive asshole to you, it is only because you are selfish.
You should understand that his parents sucked and now you have to pay for
this. How this is logical, I'm not really sure.

-When he has major surgery you will not leave his side. You will spend day
night waiting on him hand and foot, making sure he is comfortable and well
cared for. You will even wipe his ass when he takes a shit. Later he will
tell you that it was all unnecessary. He didn't need or want you to be
there.

-When he is supposed to pick you up and take you to a party, he will get
black-out drunk and fuck some girl instead of showing up.

-He will tell you he loves you and wants to have children with you. When you
then get pregnant, he will say that he has about two to four more years of
drinking and whoring left to do, so a baby isn't in the cards. He will
coerce you into an abortion by threatening to give away your dog if you try
to have the child. Then he will be evasive so that you will be forced to
dump him and he can get off scot-free.

-When you get upset about this, he will tell you that you are
over-emotional. When you try to explain how this hurts, he will ignore you
till you find yourself screaming and breaking things. He will explain these
outbursts to his drinking buddies as so: "Yeah she's fucking crazy. She
flips out on me like every third day."

-When you go to stay with your parents (read: bawl day and night) for two
weeks, he will fuck other women in your bed. The night you return he will
try to go out with a whore he's just met and wonder why you're upset about
that. He needs his freedom.

-When you are at your parents, he won't take your calls. Instead he will
spend his time e-mailing some whore. Later, he will not stop e-mailing this
same whore, because all whores come before your feelings even if the whores
are half as attractive and barely capable of forming cogent sentences.

-When his ex-girlfriend dies and then comes back to life, you will nurse him
through the depression. You will even be fine with her coming to stay at
your own fucking apartment so that he can decide which of you he wants. This
is so that you can be fair to both of them because you are a good person.
unlike them.

-Later on you will catch him telling this covert bitch who pretended to be
nice to you that he is only keeping you around because you are willing to
support him financially. They will laugh at you behind your back for being
"over-emotional." Oh how silly you are!

-When Tucker bounces back from his depression you will not be needed
anymore. You will just hand over the keys to his car and not say a word when
he drives it all over Chicagoland while black-out drunk.

-When girls come to the apartment, he will become "Cooooool Tucker Max." He
will dress and act differently. He will be an asshole to you. Why are you
upset? Don't you know "this is the Tucker Max show?" This pathetic statement
is his actual quote.

-And finally (though I could write pages and pages of this horrible shit):
When you've been stood up by the very first date you've planned in a year,
you will call Tucker and ask to hang out with him. He will not come pick you
up in YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR, because HE lost your license the night before
and you won't be able to get into the club he's going to. When you ask if it
's possible to go anywhere else he will refuse because there are free drinks
and whores in said club. Whores are very special. Much more special than the
woman that did all the above things out of unconditional love FOR A FUCKING
YEAR!

posted by The Bunny at 4:22 PM

To my friends at Gawker,

It has been brought to your attention that I carouse around among my local watering holes, occasionally brawl, and, when I can, try to bring the house down with my music. All of this is true—when I am not editing or writing for the magazines I relaunch. Along the way I have left a considerable amount of roadkill in the hook up department.

However, at 41 and back with my love of 16 years, I have resigned and sort of enjoyed evolving into a benign chap who, yes, does love to throw his arm around a couple of stunning blonds (boys or girls) as
was alleged. But for those of you who are a bit mad at my basically tearing through your lives, let me use this vehicle to write to you, personally, and say that I am sorry. Do consider yourself lucky that I am no longer with you though—I am a horrible catch, as I am more married to my work and my guitar than I would ever be to any man woman or child.

Thank you. God bless, and peace to all.

Thanks for letting us know, Neal. (Sorry about sending those photos. We'll stop.)

"Sign up online, download the clinic verification form, and get tested; mail the results to STF, and they'll send a card w/ your unique member ID and photo (remember: nothing says "trust me" like Blue Steel). Then simply hand the card to whomever, reveal your secret password and ID, and tell her to dial the card's 1-800 number; she'll then be privy to the dates and results of your last two HIV/AIDS tests, irrefutable proof that you were disease-free on at least two specific occasions in the past."

Yeah. And if ANYONE is in the mood to have sex after that, please let us know.

(But wait! Boinkology says it's not such a silly thing after all.)

A friend of a friend reports that since camp began, her son—a sweet child; he has two sisters—has taken to saying with gruff-voiced swagger, "I'm gonna take a leak." Eli and Simon have started yelling, "Give me five!" and then dropping to the floor for pushups, or some facsimile of them. They have learned many perfectly presentable songs at camp, but the latest one is "I don't want to be a chicken/ I don't want to be a duck/ so kiss my butt." Actually, the real lyrics seem to substitute "shake" for "kiss,"—here's one kid's rendition—but that's not what Simon thinks, and, in any case, this crossed a certain line for me. As in: You may not sing this song outside the house.

[Slate]

"Have you ever used casual sex (outside a committed or dating relationship) to get someone to assemble that Ikea shelving unit you just bought, help you move, do your taxes, edit your masters thesis, cut you a deal on the rent, or any other favor? Or have you seduced the UPS delivery guy/gal, contractor renovating your kitchen, or any other laborer working in your home (and perhaps even got a discount on the work they were doing in the process)? If so, I want to hear from you: did your bartering tactic work, how did you feel after the fact, and have you used sex as a bartering tool again?

I also want to hear from those whove had sex offered to them in exchange for a favor (even if you werent asked to do the favor until after the fact) or contractors, landscapers, and the like whove been hit on while doing a job in someones home. What was the outcome? Did you go for it? Did you do the favor or cut them a price break after the fact? Did this lead to any later headaches or did everyone come away with what they wanted?

HOWEVER: "No experts, please. And no anonymous sources."

Hot spots, according to the article: the ancient Russian & Turkish Baths on E. 10th Street:

“At first you’re on your stomach, so they’re just massaging your back,” said Trish, a 29-year-old marketing manager who frequents the Baths. “Then they turn you over, and [my masseur] started massaging my breasts. My nipples got erect, so that must have sent him a signal. He started rubbing me on the pressure points around my hips. I was wearing bikini bottoms, and he never actually touched my clitoris or vagina; it was just all around the area. I did [have an orgasm]; afterwards, people kept stopping me on the street to say, ‘Oh my God, you’re glowing.’”

The article reports that the boys of the Mandarin Oriental won't give naughty massages per se, but they have something called the "Vitality Room, which includes "pleasure jets." But the holy grail of naughty massages for girls is apparently the Cornelia:

"Then Joanna got a tip in the Mandarin’s plush relaxation room. “I started chatting with this woman in her mid-thirties, who looked like she went to spas all the time,” she said. “When I mentioned I was going to another spa tomorrow, she told me ‘Oh, you have to go to Cornelia. You should ask for Tron [definitely not his real name]; he’s fantastic.’ Her voice did not sound like she was describing a massage.”

Once at the Cornelia with "Tron,":

Kissing turned to heavy petting with a strong dose of grinding, until he was on top of her on the massage table. Joanna recalls the make-out session as being totally comfortable—at one point, they both started laughing—but after the first few minutes, she broke away, saying, “I’m sorry, this is so inappropriate.” His response: “Sweetie, you are my reward for the two men who asked me for happy endings earlier today. I told them no—but for you, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The impromptu liaison went on for the rest of the hour, and another 30 minutes beyond. “It was very romantic and totally mutual—it didn’t feel like I was just being serviced,” she recalls. “He asked after a while if I wanted to have sex, but neither of us had a condom,” said Joanna. “I considered giving him a blow job, but then I was like, ‘I’m paying for this!’"

Well, whatever you're into! For better or for worse, this is a stunning example of fourth-wave femiladyism.

The Female "Happy Ending [Tango]

"Earlier tonight, at about a quarter till eleven to be precise, I headed over to Shake Shack in Madison Square Park for a burger (little tip...if you ever want a SS burger and wish to avoid standing in line for an hour, walk up a few minutes before closing time...I usually get my food in under 10 minutes.) I entered the park on the east side at 24th street and was walking down through the park to get my food when I suddenly heard the voice of a man sitting on one of the benches along the walkway. He spoke very loudly, almost as if he were intentionally projecting in the hope that everyone in the park and its vicinity would hear his words...

"Whenever I'm at home and I have a girl in my bed..."

My immediate reaction, before even glancing over in his direction to get a look at him, was that this guy, whoever he was, was the Babe Ruth of cheesedicks. You know how you can come in contact with someone, even from afar, and you just know all there is to know about them immediately, like within a matter of seconds? Well that's what happened here, all within the span of a few walking steps. I made a snap judgment on this guy, someone who obviously wanted everyone to know that he has sex WITH GIRLS, and he screamed one thing...

Cheesedick.

And then I actually looked over in his direction as I passed him and had my snap judgment confirmed. Who should be sitting on a bench in Madison Square Park on this fine Monday night bloviating about his sexual relations? Well it was none other than your boy, Paul Fucking Janka!!!

Janka was with another guy, presumably his wing, and two youngish looking girls, one white and one black. After I placed my order, I drifted back into the area of Janka and his crew to eavesdrop. I got the impression that Janka and his buddy had just met the two girls. It also seemed to me that the girls were either visiting NYC or had recently moved here. One of them even had her suitcase with her in the park. I couldn't help but feel sorry that they'd been cornered by this cartoonish twat. What a great first impression of New York men! And does he ever talk about anything other than sex?

So then my little buzzer thingie went off signifying that my order was ready. After I picked it up, I headed out of the park taking the same route in which I entered. As I passed Janka and his crew, the girls appeared to be saying their goodbyes. The last thing I heard was a male voice asking for a phone number, followed by this question...

"We're all still friends here, right?"

In that moment I wondered just how many Paul Janka goodbyes had previously ended with the same question."

Thanks, Cajun! Everyone else—be sure to send in your sightings, if you are unfortunate enough to have them.

Since my book came out, I've been flooded with
emails from guys requesting one on one coaching.

So I've decided to host a once in a lifetime
seminar and really get into the nitty gritty of
charisma, communication and day game.

The seminar is called "Rock Solid Game," and
it's all about becoming a fearless, unshakable,
and confident man that women find IRRESISTIBLE.

While we're going to get into the specifics as
they relate to meeting women, the goal of the
seminar is to provide the tools necessary to
become the kind of guy that is action-oriented,
proactive, and gets exactly what he wants out of
life.

The seminar is going to be held at the posh
Gansevoort Hotel in New York City. With the
greatest city in the world as our playground, I
KNOW it will be a GREAT time.

I've already had a TON of emails from guys who
want to attend the event, but I'm not letting
anyone register early, since that wouldn't be fair.

So if you want to take your game to the next
level, and become absolutely UNSTOPPABLE with
women, then make sure you're in front of your
computer on Thursday at 12:00pm EST.

Why do you need to know the time?

Well, we can only fit 50 people into the seminar
room, so we're only going to be accepting 50
registrations.

And since demand has been EXTREMELY high, I'm
anticipating that seats will sell out VERY quickly.

If you miss out on the registration, it's
unlikely that I will ever be doing a seminar like
this again.

I don't mean to be so "high pressure" about it,
but I just don't want anyone to miss out who
really wants to attend the event. The fact is
that invitations to this seminar will be sent out
to thousands of people, and only 50 lucky guys
will be able to attend.

If you have any questions, just shoot me an
email and I'll do my best to get back to you.

Again, watch you inbox on Thursday around
12:00pm EST for an invitation to my upcoming
"Rock Solid Game" seminar that's scheduled for
August 30th and 31st.

To The Good Life,
Paul Janka

Few details are known—the National Park Service has not yet confirmed the arrests or said why they have now begun patrolling the land. On the weekend of Friday, June 13, at least one gay man was detained in the small wooded area popularly called The Meat Rack, which is both a cruising ground and also a thoroughfare between the two gay towns of Fire Island, Cherry Grove and The Pines. The following weekend, at least two were arrested.

This coming Saturday, June 28, one Cherry Grove resident is proposing—via posters around the towns—a day of action, what he is calling "a circle jerk for freedom" around the park service's (abandoned) building in the Meat Rack at the edge of the Pines.

on friday night i was out in sheepshead bay for
a fishing trip birthday party thing (don't ask). on our way back i saw this
dude sucking face with a girl in a shiny yellow dress under the entrance to
the subway. i said, "oh, that looks like serial womanizer/[alleged attempted] date rapist paul
janka, but it couldn't be, because he never leaves his house for dates!"
minutes later, as we waited on the platform, said face sucker bounded up
the steps and my friend gasped. it was paul janka! he sat down next to us.
the group of six of us began whispering excitedly at our douchebag siting.
janka began squirming, stood up and moved several meters down the platform.
apparently he's been forced to the outer reaches of brooklyn for pussy
these days!

Ugh. At least the woman in question wasn't lured into an enclosed space with Janka.

"One of Jeremy's first stunts in May 2006 was to gather 100 women he'd met on J-Date, a Jewish dating website, at the Lower East Side bar Fat Baby. When the women showed—holding white roses to identify them to their potential date—they were instead met by the sinking realization that they had been stood up, and that they were all there for the same (nonexistent) guy. "We had a ton of fun with it," Jeremy claims. As for the girls themselves, he maintains they thought it was hilarious, and adds "they got a free glass of champagne."

Jeremy needed a spolesman for the site, and he found one in Richard Nouveau. For many of pocketchangenyc.com's readers, Richard is a relatable type: handsome, white affluent, crass. He studied at Princeeon and wears apurple pinstripe suit and a pink-and-white checked shirt. He looks like a young Jay McInerney. He says offensvie things on the Web site, like, "I lifted my dating embargo on Orientals (I've devied to overlook the constant squinting)." Richard is also completely ficticious. He's the brainchild of Jeremy, who even plays him at appearances. "Smart people understand it's a mockery," Jeremy explains. "Richard's a moron. [The site is] a mockery of the white upper class ignorance. "

The Man Who Sells Sex and Wealth [Page Six magazine]

The city has shut down all but two bathhouses and every known sex club in Manhattan, as well as citing bars, clubs, and private parties where inspectors find any men-on-men action. The few entrepreneurs still out there complain about apathy and different priorities among younger gay men.

"These things are ending because people don't want them anymore," [naughty-party organizer Daniel Nardicio] says. "People are spoiled, petulant, uninteresting. I've been throwing outrageous parties again and again for years, but the only time I was busted was at the Slide."

Other theories posited for the steep decline of raunchy sex parties: gays fighting for their right to marry and serve openly in the military rather than party, coming out is "easier than ever" (is it??), and gays are not as "marginalized" in society.

Maybe everyone should spend the next few years working on their careers, until the pendulum inevitably swings back in the other direction.

Village Voice

[Village Voice cover outtake by Nikola Tamindzic of Home of the Vain]

Just think! In ten years, these people will be putting just as much energy into denying you health insurance or causing the next subprime crisis or whatever.

BW Business Schools

When he first contacted me I told him I was busy, then sick, then I ignored him. A few days ago I saw a Gawker post and realized that Paul was Paul Janka. Naturally, I wondered what it was like to hang out with a pile of shit, so I said we should hang out. I make bad decisions sometimes. And, in the spirit of poor judgement I agreed to go to his apartment. It wasn't like I was going to fall for some line and have sex with him. Gross. I found out too late that Paul Janka is not sweet talker, he's physically aggressive and refuses to acknowledge the word "no."

We sat on his couch talking - he only wanted to talk about sex and dating - for 30 minutes. He spent the entire time trying to put his hand on my leg only to have my brush it off. Finally he said, "You don't like me, do you?"

"No, not really." I agreed.

He told me that we should either have sex or I should leave. I said I would leave. I started to stand up and he pulled me backwards and pinned me against the couch. I tried to push him off me, but couldn't. He started touching my breasts and between my legs. I told him to let me go as I tried to deflect his hands. After a few minutes he let me up. I gathered my things. As I was putting on my shoes he came over and grabbed my face, he squeezed until it hurt and I couldn't move my head. The he shoved his tongue in my mouth. I pushed him off, went to the door, and was trying to unlock it when he came up behind me and wrapped one arm around my arms, making them immobile, and shoved the opposite hand down my pants. He tried to fucking finger me (unsuccessfully, I fought like a dog). I told him to stop. I struggled to get free. His only response was, "You're turned on, aren't you." He wouldn't let go. I managed to grab an umbrella propped against the wall next to me. I hit him and he backed off. I rushed out the door and I heard him laugh a little and call "bye" after me.

Either Paul Janka didn't understand that someone was seriously telling him to stop or he did and chose to ignore it. Both options are scary. Showtime might base a show on this man? Men take advice from him? He is disgusting and pathetic and potentially dangerous. Joking about this guys being an asshole is all fine and good, but if he's using physical force like this, damn it, that's not funny. There are so many amazing men running around, but it's always the worst examples of the male sex that tout themselves as experts with women.

Even less funny was Janka's reply when we asked for comment:

"I'd say going on a date under false pretenses is pretty underhanded, wouldn't you? I'm not interested in disputing her account, tit-for-tat. Suffice it to say she's spun it to serve her interests."

"WHEN SOMEONE IS SO POPULAR ON MYSPACE THEY HAVE FAKE PROFILE MADE ABOUT THEM, THE REAL PERSON MAKES A "PROOF" BY TAPING THEIR NAME AND MYSPACE ID NUMBER AND SENDING IT TO MYSPACE AUTHORITIES."

[via fimoculous and Tomorrow Museum]

The Nerd Girls may not look like your stereotypical pocket-protector-loving misfits—their adviser, Karen Panetta, has a thing for pink heels—but they're part of a growing breed of young women who are claiming the nerd label for themselves. In doing so, they're challenging the notion of what a geek should look like, either by intentionally sexing up their tech personas, or by simply finding no disconnect between their geeky pursuits and more traditionally girly interests such as fashion, makeup and high heels.

Ah, the "smart or sexy?" question that has haunted women for decades. YES YOU CAN BE BOTH.

These girl geeks aren't social misfits; their identities don't hinge on outsider status. They may love all things sci-tech, but first and foremost they are girls—and they've made that part of their appeal. They've modeled themselves after icons such as Tina Fey, whose character on "30 Rock" is a "Star Wars"-loving, tech-obsessed, glasses-wearing geek, but who's garnered mainstream appeal and a few fashion-magazine covers. Or on actress Danica McKellar, who coauthored a math theorem, wrote a book for girls called "Math Doesn't Suck" and posed in a bikini for Stuff magazine. Or even Ellen Spertus, a Mills College professor and research scientist at Google—and the 2001 winner of the Silicon Valley "Sexiest Geek Alive" pageant.

Revenge of the Nerdette [Newsweek]

"I recently got back in touch with another friend—we'll call her Catherine—I hadn't seen since college, except a couple years ago when we ran into each other in the West Village, right after she'd moved back to New York from Los Angeles. Anyway, we've been hanging out. She's single. The other day she was telling me that most of her friends from college (except for me and a couple others) are married, and most of the married friends have at least one kid. Catherine was in a sorority, and I'm convinced that there's a correlation between sorority membership and getting married by 27 and having the first kid by 29. My younger sister, who is 24 and was in a sorority, seems like she will bear this theory out, though she got offended when I proposed it. Then I found out she had shown our mom engagement rings on the Tiffany's Web site, just in case her boyfriend should turn to my mom for advice.

...A friend of mine—we'll call her Natalie—is moving in with her boyfriend in brownstone Brooklyn, even though everything's so fucking expensive these days that you might as well just move back to Manhattan. She met this guy at work; at the time, she was involved in a torturous long-term relationship with another guy, one of those relationships people get into in their early 20s and then wake up one day and, hell, they're 28 or 29 and nothing has changed, he's still the same guy they were vaguely annoyed with all those years ago, except now they live together and he does things like punch walls when he's upset."

Being able to write secretly on my blog allowed me to highlight, through my female and feminist perspective, that if a woman enjoyed casual sex it did not make her 'dirty' or a 'slut' or pathological: it just meant she liked sex - and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

...Writing anonymously and not having to worry about people judging me, or about my violating others' privacy, I recounted, explicitly, the sex I had had, be it good or bad. I spared no detail, because I wanted to reflect the reality of sex in the most truthful way possible, in the hope that other women who read the blog would relate to my experiences, and that the men reading might unlearn some of the bad habits they'd seemingly picked up from the falsities of porn.

Little did I know that, a couple of years down the line, all my lovers, exes, friends, neighbours, colleagues and family would be reading the blog too. But that's exactly what happened when I lost my anonymity in August 2006.

"Faced with a woman who's written about sex, Brit blokes are more liable to stare at the ceiling and nervously share their insecurities, rather than just getting stuck in, so to speak.

'I feel weird being in bed with the Girl with a One Track Mind,' one English guy said to me, as we lay side by side, not touching. 'You're not,' I sighed. 'You're in bed with Zoe.'"

It was hard finding the appropriate candidates to feature, seeing as how the site is flooded with fake people, entering as a joke. But we think we found some attractive candidates—there's still time to sign up and meet them yourself!

Ladies, meet Aaron McCann! He works at Ackman-Ziff, makes between $200,000 and $299,000 a year was featured in Gotham magazine's "Guide to Gold Digging" in 2007.

Gentlemen, here's Gracey! As you can see, she's cute, blonde, and is a creative coordinator at the Wall Group fashion agency. She only makes under $50K a year though—she could really use your equity!

And finally, here's Bill. He's VP of "Compliance" for Citigroup—maybe he'll find a fashion lady to comply with him tonight.

DAY TWO 9:22 a.m.: Stop at Duane Reade to pick up bottle of Advil and wander by shelf of pregnancy tests. Consider picking one up. My two neuroses: I am constantly convinced that I either have cancer or I am pregnant — neither at the same time. 9:25 a.m.: Find Advil. Skip pregnancy-test purchase. Karma dictates that I will probably get my period the moment I purchase a test. Therefore, a waste of money. 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." 11:52 a.m.: Ahh! Co-worker who I have a crush on is organizing things near my desk. Desperately search for something to say. I come up with, "It smells like beer in here. Do you smell that?" He doesn't. Cringe in horror and text several girlfriends to relay bad interaction with crush. 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.

I stupidly gave him my bcard, as he asked me out for drinks. Last night (sat) we had plans and basically he said he was in brooklyn and wouldnt be able to meet me till later. Tried to get me to his apt, but I said I dont go to men's apts. So we made plans to meet tonight and he said to come to his neighborhood. He I said ok and he said 68th and madison.When I got there I called and he said to come up (a la the Dec14th post email you guys put up). I said I already explained I couldnt do that and that he had to come down. He politely texted meback with "Im sorry I cant do that, sorry to have wasted your time." ...I randomly thought it sounded familiar soi googled him and then looked on Gawker..."

2:04PM(Girl) Let me know if you want to do something today/tonight?

2:12PM (Janka) Yes. Around 9? What did you do last night?

2:13PM (Girl) Watched the fugitive and went to sleep. 9 works.

6:01PM (Janka) I will be on 82nd street at 7:30. Ill come say hi.....

6:34PM (Girl) I am going to the gym! Sorry.

6:50PM (Girl) Do you still want to grab a drink at 9?

6:54PM (Janka) Yes. What time are you going to the gym and what time are you returning?

6:57PM (Girl) Im headed there now- should be home around 8:15.

8:23PM (Girl) So what's ur deal?

8:26PM (Janka) Let's meet in 30

8:54PM (Janka) Come here and we'll grab something

8:58pm (Girl) Come where? I need like 15 min got tied up on a con call

8:59PM (Janka) This neck of the woods. Nice night. You can walk it....

9:04PM (Girl) 68th and Madison?

9:004PM (Janka) Sounds good.

9:18PM (Girl) On my way- 10min

9:18PM (Janka) k

9:34PM (Girl) I'm around the corner be there in a sec

9:35PM (Janka) k

9:36PM (Girl) And you'll meet me where by outside MaxMara

9:40PM (Janka) [redacted] East 68th Apt [redacted]

9:40PM (Girl) I'm not coming up I told you that last night.....remember? Meet me downstairs

9:41PM (Janka) I can't do that. Sorry to have wasted your time.

Mort said of a scene in her show, the sexually frank "Tell Me You Love Me," where we see a man's penis:

"A guy's penis is the same as a woman's breast or vagina. I don't understand the difference in respect to showing something. But people really do freak out about the guys."

"There is a moment of shock," she admitted. "But I really believe it's less about women having to do it, or men having to do it, but more that there is no reason any longer to not show what you need to show—male or female. Guys just have to get used it. That's just the way it is."

On another note, there seems to be some confusion about Mort's age: the Observer reported it as 47, the Daily Mail reported her to be 33, and another gossip site said she was 51.

Members Only [NY Observer]
[Photo: Daily Mail]

She simply wanted to see if she could meet people, so she "made [herself] available, quietly sipping a pint of Blue Moon."

After an hour of enjoying the warm weather, and having not made any new acquaintances, I made my way to sit at the bar. Again, no luck... Rarely are Brooklyn's local watering holes a place to meet new people these days.

While advising me about my love life, my mother always likes to tell stories about her youthful evenings spent at her local singles bar. The rules of engagement are much different now. It's been a long time since there were social mores about which gender approaches the other, pays for dates or makes the first move on a first date. A cursory glance at Craigslist's missed connections section proves that many 25- to 35-year-olds, especially recent transplants, don't necessarily have the stones to introduce themselves in person.

Jason offered up a story about how he had been chatting with a female patron who awaited her date's arrival. He was late. They had never met before. Jason ran downstairs as the gentleman walked in, and upon his return to the bar, the date was gone. The woman had sent him away. He wasn't her type.

From the Observer:

These writers [Dave Eggers, Jonathan Safran Foer, Dana Vachon, Joshua Ferris, Jeff Hobbs, Charles Bock, Keith Gessen]... are friendly. And ambitious and ashamed of ambition. At night they plot...

Men, finding that they cannot really get status or security from the ownership of women very often, find their very selves disparaged. Like most of us, they get their status first from consumption, and the way out is to become a maker of consumables; a high-class published author.

With the exception of Christopher Hitchens — well, unless you're into that sort of thing — the "boy-writers" Sicha mentions... are all youngish, photogenic-ish specimens. And while an insistence on the part of publishers that their debut authors be not only precocious and interestingly-backstoried but unusually capable of gazing soulfully into Marion Ettlinger's (or whoever's) lens is of course not entirely new, MAN has it gotten more pronounced in the last 10 or 15 years... This insistence transcends gender.

Instead of worrying why boys can't write, we should be thinking, again, of what we're losing when we rush to publish novelists while their author photos still lack crows'-feet to photoshop. It's unrealistic to think that we'll ever revert to some pre-metrosexuality, pre-Styles-profile, probably-nonexistent golden age when book promotion was all about what was between the covers.

Gawker Media polls require Javascript; if you're viewing this in an RSS reader, click through to view in your Javascript-enabled web browser.

"For the record I wasn't speaking euphemistically as far as the 'calamari' quote is concerned. I was referring to an earlier post of mine, where I was talking a bit about dating expectations as you can see from the quote below":

"I guess the main thrust of it all, is people shouldn't really go into a date with too many expectations. Even if things APPEAR to be going smoothly, you really can never know what's going on in the noggin of the person staring back at you over a delicious plate of fried calamari. My advice?

Just enjoy the fried calamari."

"The classy text messager in the column in Matthew Caws from Nada Surf and he's still with the girl he broke up with the first for." HEY OH! You'll remember Nada Surf for their 1996 joke hit about high school, "Popular." (The album totes didn't sell and Nada Surf was dropped from their label; they went indie and made more records. Amazingly, they're still a band.)

Excerpts of dating classiness from the man whose hit song included the lyrics, "Don't put off breaking up when you know you want to... prolonging the situation only makes it worse":

A CUTE guy from a rock band sent me an e-mail message out of the blue. We had a friend in common, and he saw me sing "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses one night in Brooklyn, at karaoke.

He continued, in all lowercase, to introduce himself. I scrolled over his rambling exposition, waiting for the payoff. Was he going to ask me out? He didn't. "i'm at home absolutely spazzing out because we're leaving in a few days to make a record and i have to/really should finish a long list of songs. so, waving hello and/or re-hello! all the bestest."

My enthusiasm waned. A hot guy in an indie band waved me hello and/or re-hello mid-spazz-out?

He took me for a walk around his neighborhood. I'm always suspicious when a guy takes his date on a walk, because it reeks of poverty and an inability to plan. It seemed as if he was taking me on a stroll of his estate, and from the way people on the street greeted him with questions about his tour and album, it was as if he was the king of his neighborhood.

[Photo: Michael Schmelling for NY Mag]