I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I've Dated

I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I've Dated

Julie Klausner

Language: English

Pages: 131

ISBN: 2:00044210

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In the tradition of Cynthia Heimel and Chelsea Handler, and with the boisterous iconoclasm of Amy Sedaris, Julie Klausner's candid and funny debut I Don't Care About Your Band sheds light on the humiliations we endure to find love--and the lessons that can be culled from the wreckage.

I Don't Care About Your Band posits that lately the worst guys to date are the ones who seem sensitive. It's the jerks in nice guy clothing, not the players in Ed Hardy, who break the hearts of modern girls who grew up in the shadow of feminism, thinking they could have everything, but end up compromising constantly. The cowards, the kidults, the critics, and the contenders: these are the stars of Klausner's memoir about how hard it is to find a man--good or otherwise--when you're a cynical grown-up exiled in the dregs of Guyville.

Off the popularity of her New York Times "Modern Love" piece about getting the brush-off from an indie rock musician, I Don't care About Your Band is marbled with the wry strains of Julie Klausner's precocious curmudgeonry and brimming with truths that anyone who's ever been on a date will relate to. Klausner is an expert at landing herself waist-deep in crazy, time and time again, in part because her experience as a comedy writer (Best Week Ever, TV Funhouse on SNL) and sketch comedian from NYC's Upright Citizens Brigade fuels her philosophy of how any scene should unfold, which is, "What? That sounds crazy? Okay, I'll do it."

I Don't Care About Your Band charts a distinctly human journey of a strong-willed but vulnerable protagonist who loves men like it's her job, but who's done with guys who know more about love songs than love. Klausner's is a new outlook on dating in a time of pop culture obsession, and she spent her 20's doing personal field research to back up her philosophies. This is the girl's version of High Fidelity. By turns explicit, funny and moving, Klausner's debut shows the evolution of a young woman who endured myriad encounters with the wrong guys, to emerge with real- world wisdom on matters of the heart. I Don't Care About Your Band is Julie Klausner's manifesto, and every one of us can relate.

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Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Introduction SECTION ONE - here comes my childhood! broadway, daddy, and other barriers to loving me kermit the frog is a terrible boyfriend never tell them what you’re actually wearing be your own gay best friend twin cities SECTION TWO - missing knuckles, snowballing vegans, self-help books, and other atrocities the rules power of three white noise turn down the glamour star wars is a kids’ movie SECTION THREE -

made the assumption that if a guy didn’t do what he should, even if he liked you just fine, then you didn’t want him anyway. But what if there turns out to be a lot of guys who don’t know what to do? And what if you meet one and you know he’s screwed up—like he’d been messed up to the point where he seems like an abused stray, whether it’s the kind that snaps at you or cowers—but you like him enough to take him home with you anyway? What if you thought you could change him or teach him how to

and going to his uncle’s basement to sit around two fold-out tables shaped into an L. The men talked about sports and pulled from their Silver Bullet tallboys as I pushed my ham around my paper plate and waited for somebody to talk to me or at least embarrass me, like I was used to. I remember thinking at the time how far that basement was from Scarsdale, which all of a sudden seemed, like they say in that song, “At The Ballet,” if not like paradise, at least like home. So gradually and

casually, and I wasn’t sure when or if that would change. He also had that cool-kid affect; the kind of “mean” you see in teenagers able to make emotive dorks and weirdos feel they don’t belong with an eye roll or a raised brow. Alex wasn’t mean—not to me—he was just a little icy and withholding. And I was starting to feel insecure—like I needed more next to me than just a pretty face that I ordered online. Over the four days he spent in town, Alex guest-starred in my ordinary life. He wrote

pulp with your crotch. All I did was flirt with Leo that night, and he drank it in like a mule at an oasis. Some married men flirt the way starving people pull up to a buffet.They partake of every morsel—each breadstick, every cocktail shrimp; pasta and rice—as though it were their last gasp before reboarding the express train of their marriage. Plates are filled; garnish is inhaled. They don’t even know what they’re doing sometimes; they just know they are so hungry. The night we met, Leo

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