Center of the Circle - 12/03/09

You’ve been eyeing this cutie from across the library for a few weeks now, and judging by his/her printing patterns, you think that you’re ready to take the next step: reveal your crush to your friends and gather information about this unicorn.

“Oh, yeah … I think we took a class together,” your confidante reveals. “Nice, generally quiet and would occasionally whisper the wittiest remarks about the professor’s lecture style that would make me laugh inappropriately loudly.”

Good banter skills? Perfect. You begin planning your happy collegiate life together when, all of the sudden, your friend drops a bombshell:

“And he/she plays Quidditch.” Dealbreaker. That’s it. Crush called off. All attraction stunted.

Poll your friends. Everyone has a list of qualities that, if exhibited, prompt an immediate write-off or a romantic interest. In honor of Liz Lemon’s (that’s Tina Fey’s character on “30 Rock” for those of you who find life lessons in non-network syndicated shows) new book “Dealbreakers,” I have compiled a list of dealbreakers specific to Middlebury. If you fall under any of these categories, chances are that we will not be friends, nor will we be entering a “Middlebury marriage” anytime soon.

You eat exclusively in Ross Dining Hall. In order to have a “Proctor Date,” you actually have to come to Proctor. Also, Ross is synonymous with recluses, football players and those who wear pajamas in public, all additional dealbreakers.

You stand ambiguously. On the sidewalk, near the Panini machine, in front of the printer — do all of us a favor and either be decisive or step to the side. As Michael Chock ’10.5 puts it, “If you can’t navigate the dining hall, you can’t navigate my nether-regions.”

You do nothing outside of school, and yet constantly complain about the amount of work you have. As an extracurricular enthusiast, I believe that if you cannot make time to pursue your personal passion, you certainly cannot make time for me.

You frequent The Bunker. Enough said.

You wear your Ray-Bans inside. With the exception of an Orange Crush performance, at which this accessory is encouraged, sporting sunglasses inside makes you appear pretentious and unapproachable.

You Facebook stalk on public library computers. I’m glad that you carefully analyze and selectively de-tag embarrassing photos, I really am. Just don’t do it while I’m waiting to print out the latest draft of my thesis. Also, knowing that you frequent Facebook eliminates some of your mystery.

You only wear blue-and-white striped button-down shirts. I have a hunch that this attire is mandated by the economics department, but I doubt that they are checking up on you on Saturday nights. So, please, show a little creativity and try another color combination.

You call girls “dude.” I once confronted a guy friend about this behavior, and he responded with, “Would you rather I called you ‘woman’?” Fair enough, but still, I would prefer not to receive the same endearment as your soccer buddies.

Just in time to compile my senior crush list, I think I have finally devised a way to determine who will make the cut. Whether this is your first year or your fourth, I encourage you to decide what your dealbreakers are and to be selective. And if someone with a broomstick between his or her legs really sets your snitch aflutter, I’ll try not to judge you.