Reading Period is upon us — nothing but studying, reading, writing, and tests. For at least the next week, real blog entries will come second to my three papers.

* Summer Guy returns. Well, technically I returned by going home to Los Angeles, where we dated and bickered a season ago. This holiday, we met up. Naturally, nothing good came out of that. Naturally, I will exploit our encounter for all its salacious, literary value. Note to self: return his angry voicemail.

* Speaking of soulless corporate drones, yuppie blog BankersBall (think: Gawker-meets-finance) reports that I’m less-than-titillating. Because you know, Excel is so much more interesting than descriptions of dry humping.

* New character, Peter, will be joining the cast as well as my speed dial. His debut is scheduled for intercession (late January) and he actually has real-life fans, unlike all the other boy toys who my pals hate with a passion. Not so with Peter! All my roommates want to steal him from me. Hands off, bitches. Especially you, Terra.

* Currently suffering from a sweet tooth and jungle fever as my graphic indicates. If you’re a black guy with cake, I will write your papers for you in exchange for dessert in my dorm. (Picture courtesy of Anne Taintor, whose art is featured prominently on my wall-to-wall corkboard. Love her work.)

* Productivity means hooking up four times since coming back Friday. Between blowjobs and dinner dates, I haven’t gotten any work done. Thus, I made a tough sacrifice and decided to skip out on an ex sex session with Berklee tonight in order to finish extracurricular commitments. But really, I should be on my knees in Stoughton, MA at the moment. Ah, another time.

* Introducing two new recurring features: “Things I Learned in Therapy” and “Things I Should Tell My Therapist”. These will be slightly more somber quick reads to accompany my haphazard “Quickies” and politically incorrect “Quotables“. (Confidential to hvd09 — I’ll let my therapist Sarah know about your suggestion — also, drop me an email).

* Sex and the Ivy needs an IT department. Or at least someone who can actually install/integrate plug-ins, set up a more organized comment system, and faciliate greater user feedback. Where does one solicit technical expertise? Craigslist? India? I’m lost when it comes to this stuff. Pre-frosh blogger Sam Jackson, Yale ‘11, asked me how I’d manage to make it so far. My answer: “Like you might with a virgin, slowly but surely.”

* Into international men? The Gadfly’s Sahil Mahtani ‘08 (SM to my readers) wouldn’t mind engaging in some S&M via Boredatlamont.com.

* Readers: I’m making a self-important FAQ section, but I pretty much only get asked four questions: “What’s it like to be famous?” “Who’s [insert name]?” and “You slut” (really more of a statement). To which my responses are typically hahahaha, you, and I know. I think I need to work with more material here. So readers — especially my girls — please send inquiries to elle@sexandtheivy.com.

* New feature: registered users can now rate my entries on a five-star system. If you want to play, sign up here or click on the link in my sidebar under “Etc.” (Don’t register if you’re a character. You should already have an account set up.)

* Nominate your favorite blogs for the Seventh Annual Weblog Awards. This is the only year Sex and the Ivy qualifies for Best Teen Weblog or Best New Weblog (other categories — writing, humor, etc. — can be up to individual judgment). My personal list of favorites includes: IvyGate (New, Humorous), Gawker (Entertainment, Humorous), Sam Jackson (Teen, New), Opinionistas (American, Writing), and others. Entries are due by tomorrow, January 10 at 10 p.m. EST. Show me some love.

Monday, October 30, 2006 7:00 pm
Mather Dining Hall

Rena: Are you drunk?
Me: Uh … no.
Rena: I’m always suspicious.

Sunday, November 5, 2006 6:30 pm
Mather Dining Hall

Me (to JB and Maggie): I am sooo drunk right now.

After attending SM’s tea with Terra, I left Winthrop for dinner at Mather. Tea, I should add, includes four or five servings of wine. Today, I couldn’t recall 1) walking home, 2) entering the dining hall, 3) locating JB or Maggie or 4) what I ate and how long it took to eat it. Trashed before dinner — how deliciously forbidden.

On the roof of 14 Plympton, a real-life Aidan said to me last Friday night, “Do you have any idea how much trouble your blog has caused? About 20 people have asked me if we’ve slept together.”

Oops.

I did not arrive to The Crimson Halloween party ready to face the news that I had sullied someone’s name. On the contrary — dressed festively as a pilot, I was more prepared to recruit crew members for the inaugural flight of Mile High Airlines. When I entered the Sanctum, I made a beeline for Kay and Adia who I met up with for all of two minutes before making the rounds. In the process, I became entrenched in several blogcentric discussions.

“In fact, we probably shouldn’t even be seen talking together right now,” continued real-life Aidan*.

Right. I imagine it’d be bad for shoot. Moving on, then.

(*Just kidding. Real-life Aidan would never give me the brush-off. We also slipped out when no one was looking and had mad sex in the FM office.)

Naturally, I ended up in the company of Ed Board boys who like other boys. Rody apologized for ditching me, and SM swore for about the fifth time that’d we’d do tea. Really. I dismissed the notion of a tea date ever happening and reminded the two that they were obligated to attend a grad school function with me on Thursday: open bar mixer with all the graduate school LGBT organizations. Crashing queer events? Story of my life.

I also fielded in-person criticism for the first time. “Whorish” is what the person called an uncomplimentary entry I wrote. Can’t blame him, though the in-my-face confrontation was a bit too much to handle. I would’ve stormed off if I were sober, but I stood my ground drunk and smiled politely at the tirade.

Actually, tirade or not, I probably wouldn’t have stayed at The Crimson as long as I did if I were sober. Without the assistance of six drinks at Mather Happy Hour, it would have been quite awkward to field as many blog-related inquiries as I did. Most of the people I’ve met in the building this year (and that night) already have an inkling of who I am. If it’s a daytime encounter — say in the middle of the journalism fair — shared laughs about the ridiculous blog and polite conversation ensues. But if it’s an acquaintance forged at night, that’s entirely another matter. No one thinks twice about asking inappropriate questions or gushing praise.

In fact, I’m kind of surprised (pleasantly so) that a massive Newstalk thread has not yet happened. Sex and the Ivy is prime discussion material, but I guess I’m afforded some courtesy since I’m a semi-active Crimed myself. It would suck to get trashed on the email list of an organization I belong to. Thankfully, everyone’s displayed an astonishing amount of tact. At least when it comes to email.

In person? Not so much. Especially in the case of a certain AR who met me last Friday and promptly posted a picture of the two of us on his Facebook profile. Other highlights: Harvard’s newest blogger (still underground) offered me a riding crop. A nice boy offered me a cigarette, but I don’t remember who (email me and I’ll thank you!). Someone offered me a a few smacks on the ass (email me and I’ll return the favor to your face). The hottest outfit was an Asian girl dressed as … an Asian girl. The most endearing costume belonged to one FM exec who attempted to pull a Che but looked more like a boy scout to me. A doable boy scout.

All in all, a memorable night in a building I should probably spend more time in. But for some reason, I don’t. The Crimson, especially last Friday, is the epitome of what this blog has done to my life. Everyone knows my name but the reciprocal does not hold true, nor does anyone really know me. I think it’s awfully telling that I left 14 Plympton the same way I arrived: alone.