Here are my revised criteria for the next boyfriend:
You must be either a) an unemployed djembe player (if you must google djembe, then you’re obviously not down to par) b) a trust fund baby with real, intended if not realized, artistic goals c) just plain confused about why the hell you haven’t packed up & moved to the islands yet or d) employed at some warehouse, the atmosphere of which leads you to gripe about the “establishment” and the political agenda of your Nazi floor supervisor.
