Brokestar of the week: Unemployed OKCupid sex champion

New York Magazine commenters praised this week’s Sex Diary as “finally! A sex diary with sex!” But we have other reasons to celebrate this 28-year-old Williamsburg gal’s tale of winning at OKCupid while being funemployed. Those of us who are single, sexually active (or at least aspiring to be) dudes should love this broad because she knows what she wants and she wants what she gets, and doesn’t have too many hang-ups about sex and intimacy, which sometimes seem like laughably, Republican-congressmen style quaint traits when you run into them in Brooklyn today. She’s also taking great advantage of her joblessness to give her “hoo-ha” (her words) a much-needed workout in her new free time, because who even has the time to date around? In this economy? 

Granted, we probably shouldn’t feel too bad for her joblessness: she said she quit a data analytics job to travel in Europe, so she can probably coast for a bit. But there’s an element of peeking behind the curtain of malaise that it takes to make a relationship work anything more than a few sleepover-and-brunch parties in Brooklyn, where the wide world of options is tempting you every day. And really, what is OKCupid good for if not to sow some non-committal oats? Also it gives more evidence that it probably sucks to be a single girl in Brooklyn. sorry about that, ladies.

Here’s some excerpts, from an OKCupid date at Berry Park:

10 p.m. I’m getting annoyed. I’m not that interested in him, but this is just rude. He’s made no effort to carry a conversation with me nor made any effort to introduce me to people. He hasn’t even feigned an offer to get me a drink. I don’t need a guy to pay for my drinks but make a gesture at least, so I can shoot it down!

And here’s some honesty: not booty calling, in order to keep your week full:

10:20 p.m. I debate heeding the girl’s advice and texting YP/The Grader [code names for previous dates], but decide against it. Partly because I’m over it so I just want to get home. Partly because I need to spread out my social calendar so I always have something/someone to do.


10:30 a.m. I wake up tired. Having nothing to do but go on drinking dates is kind of exhausting with all that socializing and alcohol. No one likes when I complain like this.

Her total for the week?

Two orgasms; seven acts of intercourse; three acts of oral sex; one phantom kiss; one socially inept date; one new girl buddy; countless IM sessions filled with pining and sexual tension.

What do you think: like her or spike her?

Also, if you are this particular diarist, you know.


  1. amazing, tell me more

    I wish i could get a marker the size of Brooklyn Bowl to write WHO GIVES A FUCK across this whole article. NEWS FLASH, there’s no trending topic on twitter called #brooklyngirlproblems but i recommend checking out #sluttygirlproblems. “I mean, UGH, I have to socialize ANNND drink for free? ITS SO HARD.” Also, it’s not 2009. Writing hash tags does not make you quirky or clever…sorry!

    OMG YOU LIVE IN WILLIAMSBURG? Please tell me how interesting your sex life is while you’re sitting pretty on daddy’s little cash bag. I can’t think of a more uninteresting, mundane, self-fulfilling, and narcissistic topic to write about. File this shit under #jokelyn.

  2. singoutlouise

    personally i think she needs to be a bit more discerning with her dudes if she’s had seven dicks and three mouths in the last week and only two orgasms.

  3. beezy

    Can the entire “nothing in new york is fulfilling” genre be retired? This one reads like the worlds longest humblebrag. Stories of emotionally empty sex, artisanally-empty pantries and sort of empty wallets are getting really stale.

  4. thricetoldtales

    I think this girl took Emma Lazarus to heart:

    Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
    With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
    Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
    A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
    Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
    Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
    Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
    The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
    “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
    With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
    Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
    The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
    Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
    I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Leave a Reply