Girl, I see you checking me out. You’re thinking, Man, that guy is one hot yuppie. But if you saw the 2001 Arcade Fire tour T-shirt I’m wearing under this blazer, you would be even more impressed. You see, when I’m not at the office whipping up iPhone apps, I’m going to shows of bands you won’t hear about until three years from now. Yes girl, I’m a yupster. Let me take you out and show you the best of both worlds.

I’m sure you’ve dated guys who knew where to find the city’s best artisanal-pickle-topped miso burger. Yeah, whatever, that’s cute. But how about trying a guy who knows a chef who slaughters cows on request, accepts miso shipments directly from Japan every Tuesday, and pickles a batch of cucumbers and radishes before serving each meal?

I mean, you can drink your PBR from a can in an overcrowded beer garden, or you and I can take a helicopter to Milwaukee, enter a secluded tasting room, and enjoy the stuff straight from the source.

You can keep elbowing poor people out of the way for fleeces and skinny jeans at a thrift shop, or we can talk to my friend who has a friend who knows this guy who operates a sweatshop in Malaysia on the DL and will let you design a whole new personal wardrobe.

And you can keep going to underground shows where you have to stand shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of sweaty dudes who won’t get out of the way when you tell them they’re blocking your view, or you can come to the gig the band’s playing in my living room next week and sit three feet from the action while I stroke your hair and feed you cheese from my bro Cody’s pet goat Shiva.

Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? You’re too refined to date a man who lets his beard grow haphazardly instead of one who hosts his barber every week for a shot of fair trade tequila and a trim. No, you’re better than that. You want a man who only drinks Honduran shade-grown coffee. You want a man who drives a vintage lime-green ’65 Bimmer. You want a man who knows where to find organic cocaine at gallery opening after-parties.

Well, the wait is over, girl: your man is right here.

Since I know you’re too good for first date boxes of chocolate and bundles of flowers, I’m performing the final sanding on a homemade tandem bicycle this week. I’ll finish the paint job and install the seats this Friday, if you’d like to go for a ride. We’ll pedal ourselves to a bridge that overlooks the river and privately make fun of everyone who’s there.

Can you imagine anything more romantic?