My most recent invention is a dating service called Hater Mater, where people are paired based on the things they dislike rather than the things that they like.
This is the preliminary questionnaire I have written for people using the App:
1. On a scale of 0-10, how much do you hate the sky?
2. Please choose the stupidest fucking sign in the zodiac.
3. Order these celebrities in the sequence in which you would most want to see them surreally injured in a crossbow incident:
Amy Schumer
The Ikea Monkey
Ethan Hawke
The entire cast from Orange is the New Black
Eric Trump
Adam Driver and Terry Richardson
4. On a scale of 0-10, how much do you hate the ocean?
5. Which Margaret Atwood novel gives you the worst stabbing stomach pain?
6. What do you hate more, squirrels or birds? (Please elaborate)
7. Do your parents hate you more than you hate them, or do you hate them more than they hate you?
8. Is you best friend kind of an asshole?
9. Do you find chopsticks to be infuriating and stupid and pretentious?
10. Do you often find yourself fantasizing about making over-rated Canadian author Margaret Atwood cry?
11. Which part of this passage from a celebrated Margaret Atwood novel do you despise the most?
“Who are you? And I mean really. Who are you?”
My gut tells me that if I tell her right now, in this moment, it will not be well-received. “A friend,” I say, my gaze lowering to her lush mouth and lifting. “And the man who wants to kiss you. Really kiss you. Can I kiss you, Myla?”
“You’re asking?”
“Yes. I’m asking. After all you’ve been through-”
“He hasn’t destroyed me. He hasn’t beaten me and I don’t like that you think he has.”
“I don’t think he’s beaten you.”
“He hasn’t,” she insists. “I’m not giving him that power and damn it, you better not either by treating me like I’m broken and fragile. So kiss me if you’re going to kiss me or let me go, if you don’t want-”
I cup the back of her head, and slant my mouth over hers, my tongue sliding against hers, stroking, caressing, and the taste of her, one part hunger I welcome, but the other part, the torment, I intend to drive away. I deepen the kiss, my hand pressing beneath her tank top, finding warm, soft skin. My fingers splay over her rib cage, while my mind reminds me that no matter how big she talks, she wants this escape for a reason. She has been abused, used, hurt. “
12. “Everybody loves a parade,” true or false?
13. Is Real Estate for fools?
14. When you hear the word “Mindfulness” do you want to build an attack drone or buy a magic killing sword?
15. What do you hate more, having to use a sink or writing with a pen?
16. Which superhero would you most like to beat-up in a fight?
17. Do you hate it when people say, “Good Morning!”
18. Are relationships insanely unrealistic and entirely impossible?
19. On a scale of 1 to 100, how much do you hate non-Spanish speaking people who pronounce Nicaragua as ‘Knee-ah-rah-hah?”
20. If you heard that Margaret Atwood opened a restaurant and that all the sandwiches were named after her poems, would you immediately vomit?
]]>Le Paradis Bistro
08/013/13
Madeline X
I was at Le Paradis Bistro for dinner on Tuesday night. I travel an awful lot for work, so I dine out on my own quite a bit which is something I’ve really come to enjoy. It’s nice to be alone and anonymous, able to have a few unencumbered drinks and just people watch instead of being on guard of your personality. I suppose my dining standards have become pretty high over the years, but I have to say that Le Paradis really delivered, and at a great price. The steak frites, although nothing fancy, were entirely dependable, and the authentic bustle and atmosphere of the place, but for one woman, were great.
Across from me at the bar where I was eating was a couple. The man looked bored and like he had to play golf because his job required him to do so, and the woman was opinionated, dull and used to being rich. She was eating a pork chop that she dramatically described as, “succulent, so succulent,” and was going on about The Walking Dead as if she was the only person on the planet who had ever watched the show. She was just so bloody dull. Honestly, it seemed like ordering the pork chop was probably the best idea she had ever come up with in her life.
I despised her, and it was clear that her date did, too, because he kept looking over at me with an apologetic, sympathy-seeking look on his face. I liked his hands, and I kept looking over at him, too. Feeling stroppy, I asked the bartender if he would send her a drink (a zombie) on my behalf, accompanied with a note I’d written down on a piece of paper, “ Here, drink this, maybe it will make you more interesting.” When she looked at the note her face went really pale and then really red, and instead of saying anything she pretended that she had to make a phone call and scurried off to the washroom. While she was gone I asked her date if he wanted to leave with me. He said yes and we so we went. I’d have to say Le Paradis is a lovely restaurant that I would give an 8 out of 10. I would definitely go back.
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