write me a love letter with a heading in mrs. eaves ligatures.

"I don't think I am quite so much enthralled by him, as I am by the fact that he hasn't made any poor typographical choices," I said about a boy.

Mediocre typography is almost a standard found in the men that I date, which is generally surprising because my circle of friends contains a number of type snobs. Aside from a "Ban Comic Sans" flyer pinned to my cubicle wall, I'm reasonably tolerable, although my enchantment with certain men have certainly taken nosedives after witnessing appalling type decisions on their end. My friend Matt, who is certainly more insufferable of a type snob than I am(as I am barely one), once refused to walk into a restaurant after already having walked a couple hungry miles down Melrose Ave. because the menu, and signage were in Comic Sans and Arial. Despite being rather famished myself, I could not disagree with any particular point.

I fall in love with words easily - I obsess over perfect paragraphs and the people who write them. I don't like wasting time trying to think about the perfect man, because those sorts break your heart and leave you slightly different in all the wrong ways, like the relationship between Microsoft and Helvetica, so I divert my attention by lusting after the perfect serif. I don't know what it is yet, but when I meet it, I will know.

I'm not certain what the point of this blog was, except I was thinking about this on the way home from a bar.