Steven Weissman

I can't believe I didn't run, not walk, from you on our third date when you bragged about being a good liar. The next weekend, you took me to see that joke band and then casually mentioned on our way out that you had slept with the dorky lead singer. Next date, you got stoned and told me a rambling story about your first fiancé who had tried to control you so you cheated on him. "I love men and men love me," you said, and when I think about it now, I throw up a little bit. I could have put up with the drinking, the mood swings, your vanity, your ridiculous schedule, and how selfish you were in bed if you had not insisted on talking about previous guys you had slept with and how many of them went on to do fabulous things. I used to think to myself: "I wish she would just shut the fuck up. And if these guys were so great, where are they now?" And one more thing, if you slept with as many guys in Seattle as you claim to have, don't worry about trying to conceal the fact that you color your hair. You might as well make the caption in your Facebook profile "The Carpet Doesn't Match the Drapes!"