Last Thursday I had a date with Sarah DiMuro, the 30 year old virgin-on-hiatus from her role as the Jane Magazine 30 year old virgin. We didn't have sex, though she gave me a hug (I think I initiated it) but she's not the kind of girl you really want to hug, not because she isn't warm and genuine, but because she's really fucking skinny β€” like, sub-100 pounds skinny, and I didn't want to break her with any help from my tremendous heft. Of course, she's also one of those skinny people who will make the flagrantly-false statement "But I'm the same size as you you!", which is the sort of assertion so absurd that anorexics know not to make it. So I'm going with "naturally thin."

Sarah had some chips and a giant margarita at the cheesy Mexican place at which we met (her choice, but she was apologetic!) which was enough to give her some calories, but not enough to make her puke. Anyway again! Abstaining from FOOD isn't this girl's disorder! Sex is, or rather, how she still hasn't had it. Sarah is not only pretty - violent acne kept her away from men for her first 22 years, but her skin is utterly flawless now, little whore! β€” she's funny. Funny enough that she does stand-up comedy, which is how this whole Jane thing originated, as a stand-up routine that sort of, needless to say, spiraled out of control.


Because I was looking for a long-term relationship with Sarah and not a one-night stand (translation: I = a pussy) I did not ask certain things of Sarah that were on my mind, like where she'd been sexually on the 1st-to home-base scale, or if she'd allow us to have her hymen tested [Good god. -Ed.], or if she was one of those virgins who was paranoid enough to have been tested for HIV the first time she felt a penis. She offered that she enjoys porn, but I didn't watch any with her.

At this point, I must say, I was pretty drunk, but I do remember that over the course of the evening Sarah kept reminding me of all the facts one could glean about oneself if one were so resourceful as to type a name into Google. This is not the fault of either of us: I have an almost preposterously Google-able name. If I dated curious, ambitious, thin types like Sarah DiMuro, instead of the fleshy, slacker-drunks I so clearly prefer, I might be forced to have actual conversations with people, about things I have written, which would be tolerable if my drunk mind had any concept what its sober counterpart was up to during the day. (I wrote a story about Dave Chappelle? Really? I knew I liked that guy..)


About then I probably forgot what I was doing there. I knew we were not there to have sex, since, well, she's a virgin and females aren't my type anyway. I remembered she lives in a women's residence from which men who are not family members are totally banned. "I call it the convent," she said. "I know people whose boyfriends have worn wigs, who've climbed in through fire escapes..." It was entertaining, stories of the convent, and her neighbor the snitch, and yet: why does she still live there? She lives there, she said, because it is easy, and in the West Village, and they prepare two meals a day for all residents, which prompted my mind to again wander toward the less-fascinating mystery of why Sarah DiMuro was so thin.

About three quarters of the way through the conversation I received a text message from a newly-unemployed guy I sleep with sometimes and found myself telling Sarah about it.

Her: "Do you always know at first when you're going to, you know, like someone?"

Me: "Well I knew pretty instantly we were probably going to have sex at some point."


Her: "See, I don't always know right at first if I'm going to.."

Me: "Not have sex with them! Haha."

Her: "For awhile I was really into Asian guys. I mean, that was, like, my thing. I don't know why."


I babbled about something. It's not a fun thing to visualize a 30-year-old virgin messing around with someone, even if she's a perfectly able messer-arounder, but nevertheless I visualized her with Harold from Harold and Kumar, since I figured that was probably who she was talking about, and it made sense, having been a big nerd all her life; maybe she fantasized about a Korean lab partner back in high school; huh. Babble babble babble I went, explaining how she should explore her thing, and that even I didn't like to have sex RIGHT away, that I thought it was better, as a rule, to get in at least one good non-physcial drinking session to make sure that you were actually compatible with someone's personality...

Her: "See, I find that usually when I get really physical right away, it's because I've been drinking. So I try not to drink so much."

At which point I was stumped. I mean, what do you say? If I'd had a non-drunk control group from which I was working in the years I was out trying to lose my virginity, I'd probably still be a virgin myself. On the other hand, she's dating someone steadily now (whom she calls "Cute Blond"), and he probably doesn't want to do it yet. He wants everything to be comfortable, I'd assume; except that too comfortable isn't going to get anyone in the mood either, especially without alcohol. Sigh. Also: Cute Blond isn't Asian. So she was not only trying to lose it sober, she was trying to go off-type. Tough.


"I just need to take time off from the question," she concluded. Which was true: if a year's worth of pressure hadn't gotten her laid, maybe pressure wasn't, for once, the answer. She had signed up to do the blog β€” for no money, in fact! Though they have offered to pay $12 a post β€” as a sort of career move, a builder of buzz for Brand Sarah Dimuro, and it had wound up brushing up against her identity to a degree that was uncomfortable, even to a pretty conscientious careerist. I wanted to tell her to move out of this town, and take a job waiting tables somewhere, to smoke a lot of pot. She had gone about her twenties like the high school dork that she was, the excruciatingly-shy introvert who confronts her deepest fears by performing stand-up in front of heckling strangers. It was pretty awesome of her. But sex is different. It's like, life, or something.

"My goal is, at some point, to host a show," she told me. I nodded because I believe she could be really great at that, though I'd want her to stop being a virgin first, and maybe put on some weight.

She continued: "I just know I'd be good at it. What's your big goal, with all of this? Jezebel? Seriously. I know you have goals."


"Oh God," I said.

"I don't think I look beyond the next post."