The Place Where Things Happen

The other night, the pipes froze in my apartment building because the basement of my building is unheated. The handyman who works for my landlord came over, assessed the damage and told me he was sorry, but he couldn't fix it tonight, leaving me without a working toilet, shower or bathroom sink for the evening. I was actually happy to live alone at a time like this. If I was going to spend the night peeing into a plastic bucket and pouring it out into the kitchen sink, I was grateful no one was around to see that.
It does nothing to point this out right at the moment, but it is fucking cold. It is so cold, I have been compelled to break out my "cuddle socks", which should never be worn by a person who wants to be touched by another human ever again. They came in one of my parent's notoriously misguided Christmas packages a few years ago. They are baby blue, fleecy and hideous as all-get-out, not to mention the rubber grippies on the bottom that remind me of slippers for invalids. They are so unattractive, they make me not even want to fuck myself when I'm wearing them.
It's too cold to even think of anything other than not freezing to death right now, so it should come as no surprise that I've settled into my extended dry spell for the time being. I am wearing so many layers, the first of which is gray long underwear that makes me look, to paraphrase Patton Oswalt, like a Dr. Seuss rough sketch, that no one could even get to me if they wanted to. They would have to fight through three layers of cotton, fleece and wool to be able to even know what my skin feels like. Winter is not a sexy time. When I was still in a relationship, sex during winter meant moving things to the side or half-off, getting it over with and then covering back up as quickly as possible. No one gets naked willingly when it is this cold. If I could get away with showering in my thermal undergarments, trust me, I would.
I was out the other night, at yBar Writer's Room, to see a poet named Jon Sands. Everyone, myself included was still wearing our coats indoors to keep from shaking like pathetic, wet poodles. I ended up in a conversation about this blog with Jim, the owner of the bar and founder of Word by Word. He mentioned that he kept meaning to check it out after I read a post at the Open Mic Night the week before. Gabriel, my best dude friend and reluctant writing mentor, referred to it as, "The naughty blog where things happen."
I wish things were happening right now, but I'm too busy shivering. I said as much to Gabriel, and he ordered me to go out and get some penetration before this turns into a cooking blog. This was similar to something my friend Joe expressed to me last week when he asked, "So, when are you going to embark on a new disastrous relationship that you can write about?"
I had a typically whiney reaction to both of these options, a response of, "Aww, come on, do I have to?"
I'm not going to start having gross, weird sex or date someone who is totally wrong for me just so I have something to write about. This isn't Nerve.com circa 2000. I am also not planning on posting about ten new ways to cook kale (because it is, apparently, the only vegetable that exists in New England during winter). Any of these things might be fun, but I hope I don't need to rely on them yet. I still have territory to mine, after all. I'm still in the process of getting divorced which, I found out thanks to my new legal career, is because an uncontested divorce is placed on a six-month hold from the time it is filed, in case one of the parties changes their mind. So, in the end, the address of this blog might not even be true. I might not, in the end, even be divorced by thirty. My thirtieth birthday is less than three months away, and this might not even go to court until after that date. For the time being, this blog is going to have to be how I'm not getting laid or getting divorced yet, and hopefully the horrible dates and bad (or good, or bad/good) sex can wait for now. I think I'll wait until I feel comfortable taking off the long underwear, and then I'll see.