Month 3: You don't have a black book. Frankly, you haven't been with enough people to justify a directory, and the swaths of untouched alphabet would only embarrass you. You do have a few emails stored, however. Last you heard from your ex Carla, you were chided for not attending her commitment ceremony. ("For the last time, I do not blame you for making me a lesbian. I thank you for it.") In your note to Danielle from about a year ago, you accused her having the personality of norovirus. But then there's Beth, whom you met through a mutual acquaintance and chatted with for fifteen minutes before you each remembered urgent, fabricated errands you had to run. Awkward, but perhaps not beyond redemption. Suddenly, you're typing: "It's been a few years, but I was wondering why it is we never managed to hook up again. Anyway, how are things in the Dean campaign?"
Month 5: Your reunion with Beth never happens, but you are on her mailing list for pictures of her ferrets. Meanwhile, you continue to prowl the personals, eschewing anyone who has written the words "friends first" or "family oriented." Sure, maybe someday, but right now you just need a woman who somehow finds the top-to-bottom mediocrity of your profile reason enough to play with a nipple. You have also visited the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist. Naturally, you haven't replied, because you're certain that the classifieds are placed by escorts or men or cannibals.