The Dealbreaker Files: Mr. Not-Even-Ready-For-a-Rebound

I’ve had a crush on you for awhile, but I haven’t said anything because you have a girlfriend.  Then, one fine day when we’re at a work convention in the big city, you pull me aside to make a confession that you’ve liked me for over a year but couldn’t say anything because I was dating that other guy. You begin to flirt with me and then buy me some drinks. Four or five shots later you stumble toward me and kiss me. I back away because you have a girlfriend, and you say it’s okay because you’re going to break up with her. I back off and say, “Until then, let’s not do this.” You reluctantly back off.

A couple of weeks pass, and you’re still with your girlfriend. You call me up crying telling me she’s been cheating on you for the last six months. I console you, I make you soup, and I hold your hand. A week later you ask me to dinner and tell me I have beautiful eyes and you kiss me. Then everyday, you continue to flirt with me and the coworkers are beginning to notice. They even congratulate you for finding such a great catch. You take me to meet your parents, and you buy me gifts.

Today during dinner, I ask you where we stand, and you respond with, “you know, this other girl at work asked me out but I told her I wasn’t ready for a relationship.” “Oh,” I said. “Is that all you told her?” “Yes, because it’s true. I’m not ready for a relationship.” I get up in anger and leave. You text me with, “I understand if you don’t want to be my friend.” I respond with,  “You don’t deserve my friendship.” And then, as if being possessed by the exorcist, you text me this: “I never liked you, I never wanted to introduce you to my parents, and you are unattractive…”

Today, I realized it’s time to scratch the clinically insane from my list.

-Written by eyesontheprizeproject

The Dealbreaker Files: Back To The Friend Zone With You

Okay so you’ve been my friend for about a year and we’ve started to become close but I wasn’t really looking for a relationship.  When you asked me out on a date, I was definitely surprised but I said yes because you’re a nice guy and I really wanted to see the movie.

I get dressed up and even curl my hair so that it would feel like a real date (since you’ve never been on one).  But you show up to my door wearing what you always wear when we’re hanging out ie. tshirt and jeans.  But I brush it off because you look nervous and I think that’s sweet.  We eat at an Italian resteraunt that’s over crowded with bad service but hey, the calamari is to die for and you’re not a picky eater.  But as we’re sitting next to each other, I can’t help but notice that you smell strongly of aftershave and toothpaste.  I’m glad you cleaned up and everything but am I not worth a little spritz of cologne?  The smell is starting to churn my stomach but I try to ignore it and eat my lobster ravioli as quick as possible.

After dinner, we get in line for the movie.  You earn some brownie points by pre-ordering the tickets so we wouldn’t have that awkward “let’s-just-settle-for-a-crappy-movie-because-the-movie-we-wanted-to-see-was-sold-out.”  We wait in line only to find out the show time you bought isn’t for another two hours.  Two hours?  What the hell are we going to do for two hours besides watching other people get out of the movie spilling spoilers about how awesome it is.

I’m staying for this movie, but this just became a clusterfuck of a bad date.  Let’s just stay friends.

-Written By Hae Son Yoo

The Dealbreaker Files: The Emancipation Protestation           

It should be said that things had already taken a turn for the sour by the time this conversation happened. “Barb” came from a herd of family values Texans whereas I came from a radical right-wing cult that believed the Washington Times would eventually build a kingdom of Heaven on Earth, and somehow I was still the more progressive of the two of us. Part of this might have been socioeconomic- my family liked to go to Applebees for special occasions, Barb’s liked to go to Cancun. Unfortunately, our romantic entanglement was less “Lady and the Tramp” and more “Michael Vick: A Love Story.”

 I’d known going in that Barb had a few values that I’d qualify as “antiquated,” “lacking in perspective” or “borderline insane.” Like any other misguided idealist I thought that by exposing Barbara to new ideas I could get her to see why things like her response to the devastating earthquakes in Haiti (“At least they didn’t have anything to offer”) incited busboys and passers-by to start yelling at her whenever we went to a restaurant where the news was playing on TV. This proved to be harder than I predicted, and our relationship eventually devolved into watching DVDs together in the dark to fill the dangerous silence between us. Even this proved too prone to controversy: Boston Legal sparked arguments about everything from racial profiling to high fructose corn syrup to whether or not there was any reason other than cowardice to continue living. We tried watching more apolitical fair, but Barb eventually managed to weaponize that as well- longtime Dealbreaker fans might remember my literary outburst shortly after she made us watch The Love Guru. Little by little it became clear that Barb and I were too mutually toxic to be in the same room together, let alone to continue dating. 

So of course, we continued dating.

Part of the trouble was that while Barb’s hatred of life and almost devout faith in the military industrial complex both bothered me, they didn’t feel like, well, deal breakers. That is, until the day Barb locked eyes with me and said “What’s so bad about slavery?”

“What’s so bad about slavery?” I repeated. “It’s slavery.” I wish I could say Barb was messing with me, but Barb never exactly did “humor.” I would make jokes and she would look at me like I’d just vomited a clutch of live bluejays. She once told me that she didn’t approve of jokes because they indicated someone wasn’t “serious” enough. There was no sarcasm- we were sitting in 21^st century America and this girl was sincerely questioning the downside of slavery.

Apparently my argument offended Barb. “My family owned slaves,” she said in a huff. “I don’t see the downside. Someone to do all your work for you? It seems nice. And They’re better off as slaves than They’d be left to Their own devices.” You could hear the capitalization!

It became clear then that I was in over my head. My liberal optimism wasn’t going to get me out of this one- I’d accidentally wandered into the bad part of Crazy Town, and it was time to roll up the windows and tell the kids not to wave at anyone in the other cars. We wouldn’t be bringing home any immigrants from this place.

-Written by Young Han C. Lester