• dealbreaker

Dealbreaker: She Was A Compulsive Liar

Jeremy GlassJune 14, 2013 //
Dealbreaker: No Bed
dealbreaker-he-didn't-have-a-bed
He didn't have a bed. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Slut Shamer
He was a slut shamer, so I was outta there. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Huge Penis
His penis was so big it made her cry. Read More »
dealbreaker: she was a compulsive liar

Whenever I start dating someone new, they become acquainted with “The Big Three” — the three ex-girlfriends who impacted my life in the most negative ways possible. The Big Three include: the girl who tricked me into an open relationship, the girl who turned out to be a white supremacist, and, lastly, the girl who was a compulsive liar. For anonymity’s sake, I’ll refer to her as Lena, because I don’t know anyone named Lena and I highly doubt Lena Dunham is reading my article under her quilt made of hundred dollar bills.

I met Lena at work and it was dirty, ravenous lust at first sight. We decided to spend the evening together and had one of those romantic nights doing kitschy, hipster errands that every “500 Days of Summer” loving American guy dreams about doing with a pretty girl. We learned about each other; I told her about my obsession with “Planet of The Apes,” she told me about her love of punk music. Lena and I headed back to my conveniently empty apartment with a bottle of wine, six-pack of PBR, and two copies of “Face/Off” and proceeded to get absolutely spooky with each other all night long. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: He Didn’t Have A Bed

Lindsey KupferMay 24, 2013 //
Dealbreaker: Huge Penis
His penis was so big it made her cry. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Chipotle
He took her to Chipotle. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Wallet
He forgot his wallet...on purpose. Read More »
dealbreaker-he-didn't-have-a-bed

In case you didn’t already know, the people you meet in Los Angeles are unlike anyone else in the world. Always trying to become the next big thing, there is “the actor” (a waiter who’s been an extra on “Glee”… once), “the screenwriter” (a misunderstood blogger who lives on his mom’s couch), and of course “the agent” (an assistant who gets screamed at for 20 hours a day, all the while pretty much hating his existence). Unfortunately, starting out in the entertainment biz, I didn’t know any of this.

Something else I didn’t know: living in The Valley sucks. Remember in “Clueless” when Cher goes to the Valley party and gets held at gunpoint? Yeah, I’m pretty positive it was at the gas station on my block.

I was young and naïve and starting my first grown-up job in the film industry, (by “grown-up” I mean hourly pay, no benefits and doing someone else’s bitch work) when I met Ben* for the first time. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: The Slut Shamer

Jennifer ByrneApril 22, 2013 //
Dealbreaker: Huge Penis
His penis was so big it made her cry. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Wallet
He forgot his wallet...on purpose. Read More »
Dealbreaker: The Mob
He was in The Mob. Read More »

I’ve never been fond of being called “nice.” Nice, to me, is a consolation-prize adjective; it’s a lazy descriptor you use for a person who isn’t interesting enough to rate a few more syllables. Nice is for potholders and admirable recycling habits, for neutral weather patterns and cuts of salmon. Even the slightly more enthusiastic, stoner-drawl version of the word, Niiiiiiice!, and its cousin, Sweeeeet! are usually reserved for cars, surfable waves, or extensions of deadlines. Or, you know, marijuana.

And yet, people generally tend to label me as nice and sweet, and I suppose, in my wussy way, I am.  It pains me to be rude to telemarketers. I always repost Facebook pictures of abandoned puppies. I do recycle responsibly – what of it?

So when, on our first date Joe*, a guy who I’d met at a bar, said I was a “nice girl,” it wasn’t immediately a dealbreaker. Nice is a cross I’ve borne for a long time, and if I ruled out every guy who called me it, I would be restricted to a dating pool comprised only of surly, rage-provoking DMV employees. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: His Penis Made Me Cry

AnonymousMarch 19, 2013 //
Dealbreaker: Wallet
He forgot his wallet...on purpose. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Chipotle
He took her to Chipotle. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Pimp
He wanted her to be his pimp. Read More »

At the tender age of 19, I had only seen a total of four penises: the guy who got into my bed naked after a rave in high school; my boyfriend who I lost my virginity to senior year; the balding dorm mate who I gave an unfortunate blow job to while a James Bond movie played in the background; the older dude I had casual sex with my entire freshman year and most of my sophomore year of college. I had only slept with two of these penises, but this I assure you, all four were of modest size. (I can say this with confidence now that I’m older and have seen many a dick.)

This is where I was at in my sexual evolution when I started dating William*. He lived in my dorm sophomore year and came over sometimes to hang out and wanted to listen to, of all things, Tori Amos. I know! A 19-year-old boy who likes Tori Amos? William’s admission of Tori Amos fandom made him instantaneously more attractive to me. Not that he wasn’t already attractive. With his bleached-blond hair, piercings and post-punk style, when he leaned over and kissed me as “Pretty Good Year” played on my stereo then leaned over and whispered, “I want to fuck you on my balcony,” I felt something I had never experienced before: raging desire. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: The Guy Who “Forgot” His Wallet

Selena CoppockMarch 11, 2013 //
Dealbreaker: The Mob
He was in The Mob. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Chipotle
He took her to Chipotle. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Hometown
He talked smack about her hometown and she was gone. Read More »

I feel like a traitor to my feminist values to admit this, but I expect the guy to pay for the first date. I know, I know!  That is the lone issue about which I’m a traditionalist and perhaps it comes from my father.  He has taught me myriad important lessons: respect for nature, how to ride a bike, and that men should always pay for the first date, no exceptions. My dad is a true product of the 1950′s and he has long instructed me to leave my wallet at home when I go on a first date (not figuratively—literally don’t bring any cash because the man should pay and that’s that). While I agree with my dad, I’ve chosen to ignore his suggestion and show up on first dates with my wallet … just in case. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: He Was In The Mob

Rachel KhonaNovember 30, 2012 //
Dealbreaker: Chipotle
He took her to Chipotle. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Hometown
He talked smack about her hometown and she was gone. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Dog
He brought a dog on the date. Read More »

I grew up in a conservative Indian family. This meant anything with a Y chromosome was off limits. Don’t look at boys, don’t think about boys, don’t talk to boys, don’t even think about talking to boys. No dating, no making out, and definitely no sex. I was to be a good Indian girl, get good grades, get into an Ivy League school and marry a nice Indian boy.

All of this would have been fine if I grew up in India. But I was raised in suburban New Jersey. So my priorities as a teenager were short skirts, cheerleading, big hair, (this was Jersey after all), and, of course, boys. The only problem was I didn’t know how to approach guys because I didn’t have any proper examples. My parents got married after three dates in what was basically an arranged marriage. Clearly, they were of no help at all.

So I turned my attention to the only other sources of information I had: fashion magazines. I read every issue of Seventeen, Sassy and YM religiously in the hopes of discerning some clues about the opposite sex. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: He Took Me To Chipotle

Sara BarronNovember 26, 2012 //
Dealbreaker: Height
He lied about his height. Like really LIED. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Dog
He brought a dog on the date. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Hometown
He talked smack about her hometown and she was gone. Read More »

Two years ago, I was at my local coffee shop when I spotted a certain gentleman, and after a series of boring events he and I wound up having sex. It was mostly uneventful, except for the fact that during the proceedings, I sprained my neck. We’d had sex and gone to bed, and the next morning I woke up and couldn’t move it.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, and my companion groaned wordlessly in response. I rotated the entirety of my torso so as to be able to face him.

“I think I sprained my neck,” I said.

“From the blowjobs?” he asked, but nodding yes was not an option. I briskly pitched my torso back and forth.

“Oh, crap!” he laughed. “Wow. That’s really funny.” Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: He Wore Three Condoms

Sara BarronSeptember 24, 2012 //
Dealbreaker: Pee
He asked her to pee on him. It was not what she was expecting. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Pimp
He wanted her to be his pimp. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Height
He lied about his height. Like really LIED. Read More »

I am a woman 33 years of age who practices safe sex. But it wasn’t always that way. As a woman of 19, 20 and 21, I was in no uncertain terms an idiot where safe sex was concerned. Sometimes I forced a guy to wear a condom, sometimes I didn’t.

But that all changed when I hit 22.For it was at this stage that I that I met a man in a bar, went home with him, had sex with him. And not just any man. This man was drummed up in a dive bar. He was covered in tattoos, and I’m quite sure his continued trips to the bathroom were cocaine-related. When we got back to his place I quickly discovered that he owned a pet iguana, a leathery little thing named Juan who he allowed to roam free around his East Village bedroom. I had condom-less sex with this gentleman, and spent the whole of the next day convinced his myriad STIs were coursing through my system.

Now: I know you can’t judge a book by its cover. I know that just because a man is covered in tattoos and owns a pet iguana and has a whiff of the cocaine addict about him, that doesn’t mean that he’s got chlamydia. BUT … Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: I Got The Runs

Selena CoppockAugust 30, 2012 //
Dealbreaker: Pee
He asked her to pee on him. It was not what she was expecting. Read More »
Pooping Etiquette
10 bathroom rules that couples should abide by. Read More »
Dealbreaker: Hometown
He talked smack about her hometown and she was gone. Read More »
Female Farts
Some common types of female farts. Read More »

I met Cute Train Guy en route back to New York just after Thanksgiving. (I’m nothing if not completely uncreative with my nicknames.) With the annual tradition of overcrowding and delays, Thanksgiving travel gives me major agita. So, that evening I was relieved to secure a window seat on the Amtrak train and beyond pleased when a cute guy sat down next to me. He was nerdy hot, with glasses and a quick wit. We hit it off and chatted the entire ride. The chemistry was great, but I kept kicking myself that I had left the house in such scrubby clothes and without a lick of makeup. “I’m normally much cuter than this,” I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t because I was too busy blowing my nose and sneezing for two hours straight. I had been battling a wicked cold throughout the weekend and on my lap was a pile of tissues and throat lozenges, neither of which are an aphrodisiac, unfortunately.

But as the train pulled into Penn Station, he asked for my business card.

Ohh! I thought, Perhaps he’ll call and we can go out once I’m feeling better. Then I can make a better impression! Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: His Ex Had A Restraining Order Against Him

Jessica WakemanAugust 13, 2012 //
I Was Abused
domestic violence photo
Judy McGuire was physically abused by a boyfriend. Read More »
On Abused Women
Facts about Rihanna and other abused women. Read More »
Chris Brown's Abuse
On why our culture must take domestic violence more seriously. Read More »

When I was in college, I was obsessed with this one guy. OB-SESSED.  He had a girlfriend, but he was just so dreamy, and I had concocted this fantasy that he would break up with her and be with me.  (Shut up. I was 18.)  I was messed up in the head over this fool for the longest time, convinced he would fall in love with me if he just knew me well enough.

That did not happen.

What did happen was that I used to walk past the retail store where he worked just so I could catch a momentary glimpse of him and then scuttle away like a cockroach. My friends yelled at me for doing this. I was in a miserable and unhealthy place in my life: many, many years away from getting control of the anxiety and depression that shredded up my late teens and early 20s. I was in no place to realize — as I later would — that if a man doesn’t want you, he doesn’t want you. Keep reading »

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