Book club for the dating pathetic (part 1)

We were discussing starting a book club when Sara first made the suggestion. Initially it was meant as a joke. "My book will be He's Just Not That Into You," she declared. "You bitches need all the help you can get."

I laughed, of course, but then the brilliance of the idea started sinking in soon after. A book club devoted solely to self-help, a monthly meeting where we tell each other exactly what we're doing wrong. And maybe take some action.

Ilaria and I got started last night with a book called The Four Man Plan: A Romantic Science by Cindy Lu. Its one of those books that showed up on my desk during my book publicist days, even though it wasn't a Harper Collins title, just one of those ones publicists sent to other publicists in an effort to build buzz. Even though I could use all the help I could get in the dating department I never gave the book much thought.

Last night I pulled it off the shelf on a whim, why not give it a glance? I figured it just advocated dating multiple guys at once (which in the most basic terms, it does) but on further inspection its actually pretty fucking awesome.

Here's the general idea, each 4MPlanner (as the author refers to all women following her theory) fills up a slot card of 16 spaces, each with a different man or giving the men who progress the rights of multiple squares and chucking out those that don't (there are of course rules set up for who moves on and who gets removed but that's later). The whole process is approached as a science with Einstein quotes guiding the way. The real brilliance of it though is that the author is hilarious, like seriously funny, as opposed to the dowdy psychologists that doles out ridiculously unpractical advice filling lesser self-help tombs.

First we were prompted to make a list of all our personal dating deal-breakers. My list:
1-Men shorter than me (I'm a tall girl and its a self conscious point)
2-Men in finance (gross)
3-Men older than 35
4-Menwho use drugs regularly (including the pot smokers)
5-Unattractive men
6-Overly muscular men
7-Fat men
8-Bald men
9-Men who are obsessed with making money
10-Men who live in New Jersey/ Staten Island/ Bushwick/ Queens (I'm not big on the outer boroughs other than most of Brooklyn)
11-Anyone allergic to dogs (Zozie is way too important)
12-Bad kissers
13-Men who have strange Muppet voices (this is a weird tick I have and usually other people don't even notice these apparent weird voices but I do)
14-Men who stay out late partying alllll the time

This all seems pretty reasonable to me. But Lu then instructs that we are absolutely not allowed to turn down ANY man who falls into this list. None. Make no exceptions. Blah. I guess short old guys with money need love too or whatever...

Next we have to compile a list of our expectations in a man, whether shallow or not. Here's what I end up with:
1-Sexy
2-Artistic
3-Well-read (if a man tells me he's not that into reading, I'm quickly not that into him)
4-Interested in all things ME
5-Gives me lost of attention (without being annoyingly clingy, there's a fine line)
6-Incredibly intelligent but in a worldly way not the numbers way (yawn)
7-AWESOME kisser (I've liked men that are only so-so but really, what's the point in keeping those around too long)
8-Great sense of humor (I'm my mother's child, not funny is equal to no fun)
9-"Gets" me
10-Appreciates the Counting Crows (this one is a little picky but I could never spend a lifetime with someone who can't understand my ridiculous love for this band, its just a straight up fact)
11-Must LOVE Zozie (she's here to stay, they are can be replaced)
12-Close to their family (but not so close that my family won't always come first)

Is that so much to ask for?

Apparently while following this little plan though I am to focus on only the 3 she gives me and to ignore my other criteria, which again is just me being picky (boo). I must only expect a man to be HONEST, LOVING and WILLING. At this point Ilaria and I are at least a bit intrigued. Then we're dealt a blow in "A Powwow with Your Hoo-ha." That's right, the vagina is not to be the boss, she is not to make decisions, she gets no real say until much, much later in the dating game. Damn, this is going to be a tough one.

(This post will be continued later as I am taking the books advice and off on a date)

22

I've been listening to Lily Allen a lot lately, mostly cause I think she's so damn funny. And this one song kinda struck me in one of those totally self-obsessed "she is so talking about me" sort of ways except in regards to this song, that fact is totally depressing.

Anyway, here's the lyrics, I may add a youtube post to the video later but the video is even more horrifyingly depressing I may not be able to bring myself to do it...

When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why

It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age

She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here
I'm doing all that I can

It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age

It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age

Bubbles

Our small room in London had a bunk bed but we never really used the top. Instead we slept each hot summer night crammed together on the single mattress of the bottom.

For the most part the top bunk was used only as a tossing ground, strewn with dirty laundry and a blow up plastic chair with a Guinness label which one of our flatmates had drunkenly blown 50 quid to win. Only one time do I recall actually climbing up to lie on the top bunk, both of us, side by side, staring silently towards the ceiling.

In my memory of the moment there are always bubbles. And I really don't know why when obviously in reality there were none. But when I close my eyes and picture the moment, the room is always filled with the brightly colored bubbles, bouncing gently over our heads. A million unsaid words, hanging in the air, waiting to burst.

Pop! "I will miss you."

Pop! "I don't want this to end."

Pop! "Don't leave me."

Pop! "Please."

Pop! "Please."

Pop! "I love you."

Instead I say only, "I can't handle long distance again. When I leave here we should just admit its over."

And that's it. I didn't look at him, not wanting to let loose the other words, the ones I mean, that continued to hang in the air silently.

There is a party before I leave and his friend pulls me aside for a word.

"He'll come to America if you really want him to," he tells me.

"No, he'll never come," I sigh. "He says he will but I know him too well, it will never happen."

"You just need to tell him you want him there, he just needs to know how you feel."

But I never did release those words. And he has still never come.