So lose the keffiyeh (you look like an idiot and no one’s worn those for three or twenty-three years), put down the Monster energy drink, stop asking people if they like Arcade Fire, and listen to me. I don’t know where you live and, frankly, I don’t care. There’s band practice on Tuesdays and Sundays; graphic novel book club every other Friday; kickball league on Wednesday nights; rehearsal for our new performance art/dance troupe that still doesn’t have a name on Thursdays; our volunteer shift at the rooftop farm is every third Monday; and sure, our bike gang may not go on rides again until next summer but that doesn’t mean we’re not going to get drinks together every Saturday afternoon and plan for it. It might even give you something to talk to us about. We may look judgmental, but mostly that’s just our eye makeup running a little and making us squint. It’s okay if you don’t have as many tattoos as we do, or can’t quite muster up enough testosterone to grow a full beard.
Unless it would make a good crash pad because it’s around the corner from our favorite dive bar that serves those frito pies we always end up craving at 4 a.m., nobody’s going to care. We just don’t have time to venture outside of the the 3.5 neighborhoods where all this stuff is happening, let alone to come and meet you in a bar in midtown. There’s an 80 percent chance our last boyfriend was a starving artist who moved into our place after two weeks of dating because the art studio where he’d been crashing didn’t actually have a bathroom aside from the shared one down the hall, and we just had to kick him out after discovering that not only did things like “paying rent” stiffle his creative spirit but so did that hassle called “fidelity,” as we found out thanks to that blond skank he went home with from Union Pool. We’re might not break our facade of cool to come over and talk to you, but chances are if you offer to buy us a drink we’ll take you up on it (let’s be real: we’re living off our credit cards, don’t have health insurance and are drinking here because they sell PBR & a whiskey shot for . We probably have a lot to talk about-we too may harbor an unhealthy obsession with “Jersey Shore,” like the latest Ke$ha song, or be equally fascinated by Insane Clown Posse.
S/he blames his/her parents for depriving him/her of emotional support and love and feels incapable of returning the favor when it comes to a prospective paramour. S/he is too busy collaging pictures of his/her aura with Tumblr fan art and selling weed to get back to you.
The cat, on the other hand, probably just wants food and you are the food dispenser and you are not currently dispensing food. What they actually mean is that it's really hard to display your superior taste in music to prospective paramours via Spotify playlist.
We’re all too-skinny obnoxious know-it-alls who sneer at you for listening to last year’s Billboard Charts topper (unless it’s Lady Gaga, of course). Maybe you’ve been reading the collected works of Mystery the Pickup Artist and want to expand your repertoire (in which case, stop; there’s a strong chance you shouldn’t be dating any girls, anywhere, ever).
Maybe you’re a slightly nerdy boy in a low-fi surf rock band who loves to bake his own pies but is too desperately shy to work up the nerve to talk to the gorgeous brunette with half her head shaved and a tattoo of some Joy Division lyrics on her thigh (in which case, you’re adorable, email me).
Wind blowing in your hair plus picturesque views of the skyline are the ideal mood-setters for a date.
If you both have a bug for finding cheap records or furniture, take a walk around your neighborhood for the latest sidewalk sales or peruse the odds and ends at a nearby market.
When it comes to hipsters and cats, the rules of psychics (which you dimly remember from those classes that you dozed, drool-soaked, through) do not apply: For every action there is NOT an equal and opposite reaction.
Nope, if you shower either species with too much affection, you will get in return...
Jim didn't look like any guy I had ever met before.
I was intrigued, that despite his young age, he had an impressive beard and rolled his cigarette with grace (so unusual and chic right? His fingers and neck were covered with more jewelry than I have ever owned and I couldn't take my eyes off the beauty of the gems held in his multiple rings.