If I hear one more person tell me, “You aren’t going to meet your boyfriend in a bar,” I am going to punch someone in the gullet.
What the hell do the rest of you people do? I am twenty… umm… something years old (gotta rock the anonymity) and frankly I am not about to join a fucking “networking after work” group in order to meet some buttoned-up douchebag who wants to turn me into Betty fucking Crocker.
Yes, this topic upsets me.
This article appears in Aug 20-26, 2008.