Sweet fancy fuck.
Yesterday I went to a fashion show where I met three foreign boys who were cute but were also dumber than a box of cats. (“Do you know where there is a taco truck around here?” “No?” “Oh so you are not local?” “I am, but I don’t know where there is a taco truck.” “So you’re not local?”) This is when I realized that sadly being foreign no longer automatically = hot and desirable.
So foreign boys, here’s my new criteria. If you don’t get it then don’t worry, I’m not the girl for you, and you’re not the guy for me.
1.) Be smart. I don’t just mean book smart, you need to be culturally aware.
2.) You need to have a knowledge of film. You can’t count on me to explain to you who that guy is, or what stuff that other guy has directed, or why that film is exciting to me.
3.) I find arguing really sexy. I like to argue.
4.) You need to have a good sense of style. Sorry but baggy jeans and wearing your button-up as a scarf is not going to do it for anyone. Get thee to an H&M or even a thrift store. I once went thrift store shopping with a boy — let’s call him Bob Dylan, who was a friend and then had a crush on me and then I had a crush on him but then he got aloof and turned into a bisexual drug addict, oh college — who bought a Gap shirt despite there being a Gap across the street. “Ew,” said I, “Please don’t buy an old Gap shirt. Please. I will buy a new one for you right now.” I begged him but he really liked the style of the used Gap shirt and it looked good on him. That kid had great style. I wonder where he is now. I hope he’s not dead.
5.) Don’t be a date rapist. Really, you think this would go without saying. I don’t know if you assholes are getting the wrong idea from all those vampire movies out there or what but don’t be fucking creepy.
6.) The Who. I don’t know how to elaborate on this one, something about The Who. Just fill in whatever you want to.
7.) Don’t make me do all the work. Get off your fucking Blackberry and approach me.
8.) Don’t be Jude Law.
There’s my new criteria. Not that it matters anyway. I am currently not accepting any new applicants. Unless you meet every point on this list. In that case though I’d still be wary. “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member,” said Groucho Marx. It’s that old thing, you know?
I mean, this is pretty much it because as far as dating goes, I’m fucking spent. I really am. I have to focus on my anemic career. I’m a young smart woman and I’m sick of constantly thinking about and/or looking for men. I am not Carrie Fucking Bradshaw. Carrie was fun in the first two seasons, maybe three, but then she got annoying and clingy and sad. And I don’t know what the hell she was complaining about because she always had sexy successful men who were always after her anyway. She just could never pick one. It’s like models who complain how hard their careers are. You’re essentially being paid to walk. Fuck all of you. Shut up, pick one, and sit down. Then find something new to do with your life.
