Tagged: men

The L.A.W. – Relationship deal-breakers from men.

There’s a lot of shitty relationship advice on the web, internet.

Let’s add to the pool.

I asked some of my dude buddies and man-friends what their biggest relationship deal-breakers are. Let’s examine the results.

1. Lack of passion.

2. Low self-esteem.

3. Doesn’t read books for pleasure.

4. Passive aggressive.

A short disclaimer: I am not now and will never advocate changing your habits, lying, or settling for any person. Ever. Even if they are the most sparkly, stone-cold, drop dead gorgeous 107 vampire you’ve ever met. It’ll ultimately make both you and your partner miserable.

That being said, these are life traits and values that should be kept in consideration simply because they’ll make you a better, happier, more successful person.

Let’s talk about numbers 1 and 3. “Reading books for pleasure” is a bizarrely specific pet peeve, so I’ll extend it to include not having a hobby.

I sort of touched on this one in last week’s L.A.W. I deeply believe that everyone should have one facet of their life that gets them out of bed in the morning because they are so excited about being fantastic at that one thing. So yes, you need to be passionate. About something. It could be painting. It could be soccer. It could be accounting. Being passionate about something not only make you more vivid and interesting, but it makes you happier. 

And no, being passionate about your boyfriend or picking up your boyfriend’s hobbies to make him happy does not count. You need to make it about you. Sorry.

As far as numbers 2 and 4 go, low – and passive aggressiveness are absolutely linked, because people with high – value themselves enough to realize that their opinions should be voiced and heard. People with low self-esteem often feel like they aren’t going to be listened to, so they get frustrated, and can’t communicate why they’re frustrated.

You know what hnwcassandra’s home-brewed cure for both of those things is?



Honesty. It’s that simple. You need to value yourself and your man enough to say “Hey I don’t feel great about my belly / thighs / boobs / face because I was raped / teased / beaten / stood up.” In return, it’s his job to realize that it’s not his job to fix you, just to hold your hand on the way back to a healthy self-worth.

Ultimately, that trust will enable you to say things like, “Hey, I get annoyed when you leave your dirty socks in the freezer”, instead of putting them into his coffee.

Relationships, right?


The beach.

Oh internet. How I’ve missed you and your fickle nature. Missed you so much, in fact, im doing exactly what I told you I didn’t want to do- I’m writing this from the beach, book waylaid, beer in hand. Of course, by the time y’all read this I’ll have been back in dreary, cold, wherever I live for a few days, but thus is the power of time travel.

I’m starting to convince myself I could happily move here for a month or two. Not forever, just long enough to bury my toes in the sand and forget about the real world for a while. Mammia Mia and I ate at our favorite little Italian place the other day, Il Bacaro, and watched people drift in and out of their adorable little apartment complex with their dogs. It was lovely. And the fact that the all-male staff were very accommodating with the bread and the wine certainly helped. Sidenote – what is it about Italian restarants and their men and their big doe eyes that gets me everytime? I just want to sit in the window with a glass of red wine and a bowl of homemade pasta and an Italian man. That’s all I want out of life. Well, and maybe something chocolate for dessert. And a puppy. And a million dollars.

This sucks.

This sucks.

Anyways. Me. Beach. The humid air. The softly lapping waves. The cold beer. Its all very Hemmingway. My ex-boyfriend Dali (speaking of Italians) would be proud. It was his birthday just the other day, by the by. Many happy returns.

If I could wax romantic for a moment (which is something I very rarely deign to do) let me just say how much I love the ocean. I read a line in Lev Grossman’s The Magicians just the other day, which of course I can no longer find, but it was something about the comforting stability of a place with water. But like, better. You get it.


Fiction Friday #10- The Rules.

Hey internet. It’s my pater’s birthday, so I don’t have time to write the riveting end of Cabinets for y’all today. Enjoy this piece instead. Remember to hop over to Facebook and join my blog’s Facebook page for updates and extra fun times and whatnot.

Now if you’ll excuse me.

hnw cassandra dance gif

You know how I do.


These are the things you cannot talk about when you are a beautiful woman.

You cannot talk about how frequently you are aware of being the most attractive person in the room. You must refrain from mentioning to people that you are aware of other women’s jealousy, that men let their eyes linger on you, and that you are often the center of an unwarranted competition.

When other girls complain about their flaws, you cannot talk about your deeply rooted insecurities, how often you feel like it is simply your duty to look good around the clock. Even if you are not a model, you will spend hours everyday in front of a mirror obsessing over every perceived flaw, use every cream and ointment on the market to hold on to your youth and perfect skin.

If you are pretty, talking about your insecurities is considered fishing for compliments. Referring to your own beauty is considered vain. You will be besieged by both well-intentioned people and jealous bitches telling you to eat more, but you are not to tell those bigger then you to eat less. A lot of the well-intentioned commentators will assume you have some sort of eating disorder. The others just want you to get fat. You will not be allowed bad hair days. If you are not perfectly put together everyday, men will be unreasonably annoyed and women unreasonably happy about it.

Eventually, you will encounter rich men who will use the confidence that money brings them to court you, and other, lesser competitors, intimidated, will fade away. At first, this will feel new, exciting, and empowering, but these feelings are only temporary. Eventually, with the knowledge that you have no marketable skills, no money, and only a few precious years left of your youth, you will marry a man you do not love. You will be aware that you are only valuable to him until you are no longer the prettiest girl in the room. This fact will haunt you.


These are the things you cannot talk about when you are a rich man.

Your frustration with the assumption that you did not earn your money.

How servers will treat you with sniveling deference to your face to get a good tip, then complain about you behind your back.

If you use the priority line at the airport, people waiting to check-in to coach will glare at you with seething hatred. This gets to the point where you either board late on purpose, or hide behind the Sky Mall catalogue when they pass by your first class seat. If you mention this off-hand to someone who has not had this experience, they will somehow assume you’re an asshole.

You will never have an honest conversation with someone about how fancy restaurants overuse truffle-oil just because it’s expensive.

If you are rich, people will tell you to give your money away. If you do this, you will inevitably choose the wrong charity. If you do not, you are considered a greedy, conceited person. Your friends will secretly hope that you pay for them at expensive places, but they will get upset if you actually offer.

People will tell you to volunteer in a soup kitchen, because being rich means that you don’t understand poverty. This is especially true if you grew up having money, even if you were one of those kids who desperately tried to hide their parent’s wealth. If you are lucky enough to have your parents pay your way through school, your peers will secretly think you’re a spoiled, incapable brat. If you pay for your kid’s college tuition, people will tell you this is somehow ruining their ability to survive in the real world. If you have money, you are never allowed to feel like you deserve it.

You cannot be seen eating a hot dog from a street vendor because your rich peers will make fun of you behind your back and speculate if you are going under. You can never tell anyone how much you hate spending time with other rich people, but after discovering how much resentment your less wealthy friends secretly have for you, you will end up spending more time at the country club anyways.

Eventually, you will encounter beautiful women. They will flock to you because you are rich and they have no skills other than being pretty. Because your friends all have pretty wives, you will feel the need to acquire one of your own. You will try to pick the least vapid option. You will invariably be disappointed.


If you are both beautiful and rich, you are no longer allowed to have any problems.


If you are beautiful, rich, and really nice, everyone will assume you are faking one of the three.