Girls Gone “Gone Girl.”

I just finished reading Gone Girl, and feel as though I should be more unsettled about the many small ways in which the male protagonist — a suspect in his wife’s disappearance — reminds me of two different men I’ve known.

One in a sweet, “Aw, be my husband!” way, and another in a “Grow the fuck up and use your words, you goddamn man-child” way.

I’m seeing the movie this weekend and am pretty sure Affleck will be perfect casting. Super dreamy, but yeah, I do instinctively just want to punch him in his chin dimple. Well done, Hollywood.

Priorititties. (See what I did there?)

Reasons I’ve Clicked “Pass” on OKCupid Profiles: General Profile Infractions, Part 3

— He looks like he’d be Guitar Guy at parties.
— He talks shit on his exes in his profile.
— He has a photo of him and his ex in his profile. He acknowledges it’s poor form, but did it so all us lesser females can “see the type of woman I generally go for.” Because the detailed verbal description of your ex wasn’t enough.
— He’s in an open relationship. Sorry, no. I’ve already wasted too much time playing Lewinsky with a guy who placed me second. (Or, let’s be honest, like 50th — as priorities go, I seemed to rate above laundry, but below watching “The Last Action Hero” edited for time and content on TV.)
— Among the things he can’t do without: “Titties.” GOD, I hate that word. (Damn shame, too, because that’s my best feature. Sucks to be you, sir — should’ve been a little more tactful.)

Basic Human Decency v. Competent Parenting

Sorry, no, Aunt Buzzkill. Me NOT being an asshole to a little kid is a far cry from “great maternal instinct.”*

My 2-year-old nephew asked me to hold his hand to help him down the stairs and I did. That’s not “instinct,” that’s…not being a douchebag. What else was I gonna say? “No way, fuckface, you’re on your own.” It’s also just part of a social contract — I would really prefer not to explain to his parents how their child ended up tumbling down the steps.

If If anything, that’s the KID’S instinct: “Hm. I require assistance navigating these stairs. Perhaps I should request some help from someone with marginally superior motor skills. You there! Lumpy! Take my hand!” That is me taking direction from a child who knows his needs better than I do.

I’m good with toddlers because all I have to do is play Mr. Potato Head, tickle tummies, and make sure no one explodes. Fairly easy in 1-day increments, but I wouldn’t call it “instinct.” Once they get fussy, I hand them back to Mom or Dad: “This one’s broken, fix it.” I don’t know what the hell to do with these kids. My instinct is to give him 20 bucks and a bus pass and tell him to figure his life out.

* I am quite sure this was intended merely as a compliment, and not as any sort of pressure to be fruitful and multiply from someone who’d never even see my hypothetical spawn. Well, I’m MOSTLY sure that’s how it was intended…probably… She IS kind of a dick…

Zero to Snooki in 3.5…

A guy on OKCupid emailed me and said he was surprised to find a “culturally aware, well-read woman” from my hometown.

At first I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Uh…thanks for the…”compliment…?”

I decided it reeked of pretension and ignored him. But the subsequent swearing in my head had a Jersey accent.

(One of the reasons I started hating New Lad was because he talked shit on my hometown. ‘Ey. Fuck you. You’re a Mets fan, man, go fuck yourself.)

“What really matters is what you like, not what you ARE like.”*

Reasons I’ve Clicked “Pass” on OKCupid Profiles: Entertainment Missteps Edition

— He doesn’t read. One guy in particular blew my entire mind when he said, “i don’t read much. I’d like to fix that but its hard to start reading when you dont read much.” Um. No, it’s not. At all.
— He lists “Footloose (circa 2011)” as one of his favorite movies. How dare you, sir?
— He said “The Hangover was superb.” The Hangover was fine, but that sentence tells me you have terrible judgment either of movies or of words, and I cannot abide either.

* Subject line from High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby.