I’m in a Frivolous Mood

So I’m going to post about frivolous things. Like all that girl-boy stuff. Specifically, deal-breakers. In movies I feel like the deal-breaker is always living with your parents, or being kind of a snob, or looking like Judd Apatow;  I really don’t think any of those things would kill it for me, though, if I were into the general package. Also, I don’t categorize things like not treating one well, cheating, or being nasty to one’s friends as dealbreakers–those are just common-sense and universal reasons not to be with someone. Dealbreakers are more personal, more finicky, more potentially negotiable. So what are my dealbreakers, if they even exist?

1. Not liking beer: If you don’t like whisky, fine, more for me. But beer? We’ll never be able to really bond. Not to mention, hello, family pong tournaments?

2. Actively disliking Bjork: Don’t question me on this, or you’ll meet an army of me.

3. Too refined a sensibility: If you’re not going to appreciate my dirtier jokes, or you cast looks of pained saintliness my way whenever I put on The Goonies, I’m going to be a very unpleasant person to live with. Plus we probably have very different ideas on how to raise children.

4. Not being into…umm…physicality: Like I said, a very unpleasant person to live with.

5. An investment in traditional gender roles: Why are we dating? Have you even met me?

6. A porn habit: If you’ve slept around in the past, looked at things you shouldn’t have, fine. But if you have any lingering attachment to or affection for the stuff—well.

7. Control freakishness: Again, why are you even dating me?

8. Saying things like “you’re my muse–I need you to write my music,” or “you make me feel so alive…“:  And yes, I have found that men in real life do say things like that. Yes, really.

9. You’re into being a couple in all those annoying couple-y let’s-stand-next-to-each-other-like-Siamese-twins-at-this-party ways: If you want an exclusive claim on my time and affection, I suggest you go buy a ring. A nice sparkly one, too. And even then, don’t be annoying about it.

10. You have no interest in exploring South America or relocating to Myanmar. You think a nice house in West Chester sounds much nicer. You don’t like mess or noise or tackiness or kids with no shoes and chipped teeth. You can’t really envision your lady-love in denim overall shorts. What more is there to say?

Do any of you guys have dealbreakers? What are they?

An Article About the Only Man I Shall Ever Love

Possibly of interest only to me.


The Boss is as much concerned with home as Feist is in Mushaboom–but with community rather than domesticity, its limitations and its loss.

To be fair, I think you’d need a much longer article than this to do the topic justice.

Also, here’s this

How To Ward Off the Nice Catholic Boy

We’ve all been there. You’re nomming on after-Mass donuts in your parish hall, or answering phones at your local crisis pregnancy center, or in the library researching your thesis on Medieval art. Suddenly Ted–I can call him Ted, can’t I? saunters up and engages you in conversation. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary, just two good friends shooting the…..wait. Oh no. OhNoOhnoOhno. There it is again in his eye, that sickening spark, that marrow-freezing gleam. The love light.

You’re not repulsed or creeped out–you’re actually quite flattered, because on paper Ted is a catch. A steal. A nice Catholic Ken-doll dreamboat. But for personal reasons, because of your thesis, or your crush on the latte guy, or your inward conviction that you’d rather eat cicadas for breakfast than ever enter into matrimony, you really, really don’t want to be courted. You want to blow whistles and wave octagonal red signs. Halt! No wooing! No courting! No feeeeelings! (because ew feelings, right?) And since simply waiting to freak out till he actually asks you out and then politely turning him down is way too mature and commonsensical (because ew common sense, right?), I have compiled some helpful tactics.

1. Expose him to your violent feminist streak. Mention Gloria Steinem often and fondly. Tell him he is the bicycle to your fish. Bring up your sympathies with the Slutwalkers, and muse aloud on the unfairly neglected merits of the Vagina Monologues.  *

2. Casually read Sylvia Plath in front of him. Ten points for The Bell Jar, one hundred points for “Daddy.” *

4. While out for drinks after work, challenge him to a chug off. *

3. Bring along your best friend to your informal coffee are-these-dates?. Wear flannel, and snuggle over your cappucinos.

4. Take out a garlic clove and bless yourself when you see small children.

5. Tell him you could only marry a man who shares your love of Bjork.*

4. Tell him you could only marry a man whose Christian name is Earnest.

6. Talk constantly about your career plans, hopes, and dreams, making sure none of them include–how you say?–settling down? I have found aspirations to foreign correspondency particularly helpful in this respect.*

7. If he does ask you out and you really can’t fool yourself or anyone else that it’s not a date, and couldn’t bring yourself to say no because you’re such a non-confrontational weasel or kind of like the attention or whatever, make sure you wear don’t-mess-with-me-boots. These are like the younger sister of fuck me boots, except she went to Bryn Mawr and is now a community organizer. By no means wear the take-me-home-to-Mom floral print dress and ballet flats.

8. Tell him you are a sedevacantist. Wear mantilla with said don’t-mess-with-me boots.

8. Tell him you are a liberation theologian. If he says “I think you’re a contra,” marry him.

9. Be unable to properly number your posts?

10. Tell him you are on a raw food diet, are revisiting veganism, and don’t shave your legs.

*Denotes personal experience.