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This Issue 02/22/2007

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Dear Elevator Romantics.

Although stealing gentle kisses from your boo on the elevator in between the 14th and 15th floor seemed sweet at the time, I'm pretty sure I saw the nine-year-old faculty fellow's daughter throw up in her mouth. Shout out to anyone I've ever seen make out in the elevator - I agree with you guys, love is best expressed when one is nestled between that half-empty can of Natty Light set down in the corner and the underfed girl buckling under the weight of her Fresh Grocer bags filled with carrot sticks. I'm glad you found a place to show your love. Untamed, wild, everlasting love that couldn't wait until you got to your rooms. If anything you guys are being a tease. If you're going to go for it, go for the gold. As my grandmother once said "Whip it out!" She happened to be giving directions on how to prepare the cream topping for the pie we were making at Thanksgiving, but I think the phrase is still transferable. Go for elevator sex. The stares you get couldn't possibly get worse, and furthermore you'll probably get tips (monetary or technique). Until you're willing to put on a real show, keep it in your pants. My iPod doesn't get loud enough to muffle the sound of heavy breathing.

Love,

The Person Pretending To Be On The Phone