“Emily Zola” apparently didn’t agree with last month’s New York Post story entitled “Olbermann Gets Low Ratings in Bed” — so she decided to launch a blog to set the record straight:
We met in a “Flash Gordon vs. The Flash — WHO WOULD WIN???” chat, and in the midst of that heated and important discussion, two likeminded individuals — dare I say soul mates? — found each other. Those first emails — bold yet sensitive, intelligent yet with a certain slapstick element — will forever stay with me. I may have excerpts engraved on my tombstone. But I digress. Our online relationship grew and blossomed, and eventually — inevitably, perhaps — we agreed to meet. I flew to New York, where Keith had booked me a room at the W Hotel. We were to meet at seven for dinner. He called from the lobby at seven o’clock exactly to let me know he’d arrived, and when I asked if he’d like to come up he replied that he didn’t want me to feel pressured, and would wait for me in the lobby. He urged me to take my time, and said that he was pleasantly occupied and in no rush — just what any girl getting ready for a first date wants to hear. When I emerged from the elevator, he presented me with a bouquet of tulips (my favorite! How did he guess?) and told me that I looked “breathtaking, absolutely gorgeous.” I did, too. He then presented his arm, inquired “May I?” and escorted me to a waiting car. I’d told him that my favorite food is sushi, so he took me to a lovely restaurant called “Nobu,” where we feasted on the freshest, most succulent tuna and yellowtail I’ve had the pleasure of tasting. After dinner, we were both in an amorous mood, and retired to my hotel room for a night of erotic adventure.