Thursday, April 21, 2011


This is a tale for the ages. Possibly one of my favorite stories of all time, and I finally get to share it with the world (not that I didn't verbally share it with everyone I knew, didn't know, and their moms at the time).

Law school was an interesting time. Some of my best friendships were made there, and also some of my best memories. Incidentally, some of the most hilarious parts of my life also occurred during this three-year period. This is one of those times.

I had been in law school for about a year and a half when a friend from out-of-town came to visit me in my new apartment in Dallas. We enjoyed some shopping, some eating, and then, at night, we joined my law school friends for some partying. Said friend was, at the time, very single, and enjoyed mingling with young men, if you catch my drift. I fully anticipated she would find a hot guy somewhere at our law school happy hour and enjoy herself to the fullest.

At happy hour, she and I are hanging out with some of my friends, when a somewhat infamous male classmate took a liking to her. This guy, to put it bluntly, thought he was hot shit. He thought every girl in town wanted him, and that he was doing them a favor to speak to, make out, or have sex with them. Ironically, he was only minorly attractive and rather short, so he made up for it by going to the gym and reminding everyone that he went to an Ivy League school for undergrad. He had basically become the school joke.

Not that I have unattractive friends, but this particular friend is rather striking, due equally to her body, personality, and general overall prettiness. The fact that she wasn't a regular struck even more interest, and within minutes the unsuspecting victim (my friend) had been lured over to sit with Mr. Awesome and his friends, who continued to ply her with free alcohol throughout the evening. Being a smart girl, she is not one to pass up free drinks, so my friends and I thought she was simply using him for booze and would eventually return to our circle.

At the end of the night, this still hadn't happened. I go up to her and ask her her plans, and she told me that she, Mr. Awesome, and 3 of his friends were going to hang out at his apartment for a while and invited me along. I joined, partly because I had a crush on one of the other guys, and partly to be the getaway ride when my friend wanted to peace.

The apartment party was rather uneventful, except for my friend violently vomiting and passing out in Mr. Awesome's bed while the boys and I hung out in the living room. When I decided to go, she was down for the count, and he promised me he'd drive her back to my apartment in the morning since she most likely would not make it to my car. Only because I knew him and where he lived did I agree to this.

At 10am the next day, I get a phone call saying "I'm outside your apartment, come open the gate." Then THIS is what I'm told upon her entry into my place:

Apparently she puked for an hour or so before passing out in his bed, and stayed asleep til approximately 8am. While she was deathly hungover and had puke/sleep breath, he still was interested enough that morning to prod her for some "intimate relations." She halfheartedly obliged, if only because she felt guilty for puking all over his bathroom. She was, however, shocked at how actually horrifying sex with this person could possibly be.

First of all, she told me, he had the smallest penis she had EVER encountered. She emphasized EVER, knowing that I was aware this was not the first one she'd ever seen. She honestly could not tell if there was actual sex going on. While this sounds bad, this is only the tip (HA PUN) of the iceberg - what really creeped her out was his sex talk, which consisted of:

Looking at his own biceps while he held himself up and asking her, NOT JOKINGLY, "Can you tell I work out?"

Followed by the even more creepy "How does it feel to be fucked...BY ME?" Grammatical structure aside, he obviously was more ridiculous than we had ever anticipated was possible. When I heard this I DIED laughing, as did she, and when I asked how she got the hell out of there, she told me that to avoid laughing in his face, she pretended she had to go puke and hastily ran to the bathroom and locked herself inside for a good 20 minutes.

When I heard the story, I BEGGED her to let me tell my law school friends that she had met, not so much for her benefit but for the fact that they would LOVE to hear a story that made the reality of this guy's douchbaggery so tangible. She agreed, and ever since has been a hero of my law school friends for "taking one for the team" simply so this story could be told.

For the rest of law school, I would walk up to certain friends and just whisper "Can you tell I work out?" and they'd bust out into a hail of laughter. In fact, they still do to this day.

And that, my friends, is why this gentleman should be still single (actual status unknown).

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


*Corrected the title because of a horrifying grammatical mistake. I, the grammar Nazi, am painfully embarrassed, but it was late dammit.

We've all heard of the chubby computer geek ending up with the supermodel, but the reason we hear about it is because it happens practically NEVER, so the general public finds such obvious freak shows endlessly entertaining.

I have good news and bad news. The good news - there really is someone for everyone. The bad news - they're probably just as ugly and stupid as you are. Sure, opposites attract, but opposites like an attractive hippie girl and a cute conservative business man, not a fat pizza delivery boy and a hot female CEO.

There have been times when some of my less attractive Facebook friends, both male and female, will get married, and I'll ask my friend "How am I not married if SO AND SO can land a spouse??" Her reply is always the same - "Go look at their wedding pictures. He's painfully ugly." I look, and she's right. These unattractive friends have found equally unattractive mates, and they're perfectly happy with them. When I realize that I wouldn't even give the time of day to their husbands were they to have asked me out on a date, relief sets in.

When you're in the sanctuary that is college or graduate school, especially if you're in a sorority or fraternity, you think you're just average looking compared to the people you see on a daily basis. Then you leave college and realize the rest of the world has endured a strong beating with the ugly stick. And often times the obesity stick and the stupid stick. I recommend spending a day in a criminal courtroom if you want an ego boost with regard to both your physical attractiveness and intelligence.

Listen people. Look in the mirror. You should have some idea of how attractive or unattractive you are. You should probably also realize if you have a good or bad personality (hint: if people avoid you at work, school, or anywhere at all, it's probably not a great sign). Now put those things together and figure out your league. If you keep shooting above your limit, you're going to keep failing and failing. Find yourself a nice happy medium, say a chubby girl with a good personality or a really skinny chick who happens to have no boobs and a venereal disease.

I know my league. I'm pretty smart, and I'm pretty attractive. But I am aware that not everyone I date will be GQ material. And despite the fact that I'm 50% hotter than Bradley Cooper's ex-girlfriend, I know that he's probably not interested in an underpaid attorney who drives a Honda Civic and sometimes has to eat Easy Mac for breakfast due to lack of financial resources.

So you, Mr. 30lbs overweight insurance salesman with a GED, need to understand that an attractive female with multiple degrees who keeps herself in good physical shape probably won't be interested in a date, but that doesn't mean that the girl with the muffin top and tattoo of her ex-boyfriend's name on her boob won't go out with you. Sure, you'd rather go home with me. I'd rather have someone make me a fresh omelette every morning on my waterfont patio than eat a piece of toast with Nutella at my desk, but we can't always get what we want.

The sooner you embrace the fact that you have to lower your standards a little bit, the sooner you'll find someone who's right for you. And the sooner that Nutella will start tasting just as delicious as the omelette you can't afford.

Monday, April 18, 2011


We've all been on one side or another of unrequited love. It's a sad thing, having feelings for someone who doesn't share them, but at some point in your life you have to suck it up, be a big boy, and get the hell over it. That point in your life is now.

Everyone has crushes that will never turn into anything. I, for example, dream daily about how Bradley Cooper and I will get married on the beach and be the most beautiful blue-eyed Hollywood couple and neither of us will get fat, old, or bald. However, I have enough sense to know that, as upsetting as it is, I will probably never even meet Bradley Cooper, let alone marry him or even so much as touch his shirt. My dreams of Bradley don't get in the way of snagging 23-year-old Joel McHale lookalikes in Las Vegas, but some people simply wallow in their own self-pity and convince themselves that I or whomever they desire will come around eventually.

Look. I know you want to date me. We're friends, you have a crush on me, and it's pretty obvious. Seeing that I'm a female and we pick up on things a little quicker than our male counterparts, I figured that out a long time ago. Now, think for a second - I'm single, have been for three years, and have said many times to many people I would like a relationship. Would you not think that I, in my infinite wisdom and ability to sense your blatantly obvious feelings, would take advantage of the fact that you liked me if I liked you back? Why would I be out looking for a date if I knew I had one right here waiting for me? OH RIGHT, BECAUSE I'M NOT INTERESTED.

No, buddy, I'm not going to come around, so stop messaging me every time I get online, unless you have something really interesting to tell me - for instance, if you saw a man catch fire on the sidewalk on the way to work. I want to hear about that, I don't even care if the person telling me is someone I hate, that's a fucking interesting story.

The word "subtlety" was left out of the man dictionary, so I have spelled it out to you many times, with actual words. We are not dating. We will never date. Yes, I enjoy you as a friend, but that doesn't automatically translate into "I like you, eventually we can get married, but let me date all these other guys first." I'm about as likely to have a change of heart and come running to you as I am to Jesus, which in no uncertain terms means you don't stand a chance.

Stop waiting. Go find someone who actually likes you. If I'm friends with you, that probably means you're not a complete douche who actually could succeed in a relationship, so there's someone out there for you. Just, unfortunately, not me.

And if you happen to be attractive enough that I might enjoy the occasional makeout, that still doesn't mean I'll come around. When I said before we made out "We are not dating, we will never date, I just want to make out" I was not using code - I'm a lawyer, we spell things out pretty bluntly. Don't put your hand on my leg, don't rub my back, especially not in public when there might be guys I could date watching. You do that with a girlfriend, not a makeout buddy, and I've made it VERY clear I will never be the latter. I attached the proper warning labels and you chose to ignore them.

So go, seriously. Go find a date, a wife, whatever, because you're not getting any younger and I'm not getting any more interested.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


Loved this one! So painfully true. Enjoy the THIRD guest blog!

Let me lay the scene: You’re jogging along, grooving to your iPod, when suddenly you hear something. It’s a car horn honking. You snap your head around, hoping you’re not about to be plowed over at that intersection you kinda-sorta-maybe of breezed through without looking. But no, you’re not about to get turned into roadkill; you’re about to get cat-called by a complete friggin moron. “Heeeey!” “Ow owwww!” “Damn, girl!” “Yeah, I like that!” or some other equally brainy remark flies your way.

And instantly you fall madly in love. You gaze into his eyes (assuming you can find his eyes through those heavily tinted windows), and your world is suddenly complete. You simultaneously rip your clothes off AND propose marriage right there in the middle of the street.


Hey, buddy…what, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish with this lame-ass pick-up tactic?! How many times has a girl ACTUALLY stopped in her tracks, flagged you over, and jumped into the car with you? Oh…never? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

You are single, and will remain so, because you adopt the stereotypical construction worker mentality to approaching women. Yelling at us as we walk/jog/ride/drive by you is going to get you absolutely nowhere. More than likely, it’s going to startle your target and cause her to trip, thereby really pissing her off. Just a guess, but extreme annoyance is probably not the first emotion you want to evoke when hitting on a girl. But if it is, by all means continue on with your brilliant wooing method.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


After a weekend in Vegas I have finally returned to the world of blogging.

This story just goes to show value (and horror) of coincidence - had my father known my zip code, I would never have (not) met this creepy stalker.

During law school I lived in downtown Dallas at a large apartment complex. My parents often sent me packages, with no issue, but one package never seemed to show up at my apartment office. After forcing the office staff to literally comb through every package in the closet, they told me where the local post office was that would have it if it were delivered when the office was closed. I set out to make this my mission.

One afternoon after a couple of hours interning at the DA's office, I arrive at the downtown branch of the post office in my suit. For some reason, more so than if I was in a swimsuit or tight workout spandex, I get hit on when I'm in my suit. However, this day seemed normal and the 5-6 folks in line that I noticed didn't look my way. I make it up to the counter and explained my situation to the woman, who went in the back to look for my package. She apologized, told me my package was not there, but requested my address and phone number so she could contact me when it showed up. I gave them to her. Aloud.

The next day, still packageless, I get a phone call. It had an area code I recognized so I answered thinking it might be someone from school.


In a thick Indian accent, the person on the other end responded. "Um, hi, my name is Gil, and um I saw you at the post office yesterday and I thought you were pretty."

What he just said hadn't really sunk in fully, so I asked "How did you get my phone number? I didn't talk to anyone at the post office."

"I wrote it down when you told it to the lady at the counter."


He continues "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime, maybe Tuesday, are you free Tuesday?"

"NO. NO. You can't just write down some unsuspecting stranger's number when they are clearly not giving it to YOU! Don't EVER call me again!" And I hung up.

Rightfully, I was freaked out. This creepster thought that not only was it acceptable to write down someone's number when they were CLEARLY not giving it to him, but that it I would most certainly interested in going out with someone I had never seen who had severely violated my privacy.

It doesn't even end there. I clearly told him NEVER to call me again, and I get another call the very next day, which I let go to voicemail.

"Hi, this is uh, Gil, uh, the post office guy, I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow night to see if you maybe uh wanted to go out somewhere, or if not tomorrow than the next day, um, here's my number, call me back..."

This guy was completely out of his mind. He had been VERY ACTIVELY rejected the day before, told never to call me again, and defied both of these things and thought I'd have a change of heart the following day. Now not only was I terrified of him calling me again, but I knew that if he had heard my phone number, he also had my address. Luckily at the time my boyfriend was living with me most days, which made me feel safer, but I was constantly looking around for someone waiting for me when I didn't even know what he looked like!! I had no idea if he was watching me at all times.

So apparently there are some guys out there that are more clueless than we realize. I now have to spell it out to you.

1) NEVER write down a girl's number unless she is giving it DIRECTLY TO YOU. No, this is not the movies, and she won't be flattered that you thought she was cute enough to take the chance to contact her even though she's NEVER LAID EYES ON YOU. Yes, you're probably going to go on a date with this girl who's never seen you and you'll fall madly in love and have a great story to tell at your wedding. Or she'll get a restraining order.

2) If, for any reason, you violate rule #1, DON'T USE THAT NUMBER. Sure, you have it, but don't use it. It's like being drunk and calling an ex. It's still in your phone, you want to use it, but NOTHING good will come of a 2am drunk dial to someone you're not-so-secretly still in love with. Similarly, nothing good can come of you calling someone who has no idea who you are after doing something as creepy as STEALING her number while she gave it to someone else.

3) If you are a complete moron and violate both #1 and #2, and the victim seems even SOMEWHAT displeased with your phone call, GIVE THE FUCK UP. English may not have been your first language buddy, but "Never call me again" doesn't mean "try again tomorrow, maybe she'll feel differently." There needs to be some way to make this phrase as startling and severe as those yellow caution signs in many languages: ACHTUNG! !CUIDADO! STOP CALLING ME YOU CRAZY STALKER!!!!!!!!

So the story basically ends a few days later, when after he calls 4 times without messages (literally once a day), I'm in the DA's office and talking to one of the cops awaiting trial. Fortunately for creepy stalker, that was the first day he didn't call at the same time, or else Officer Beatdown would have answered the phone for me and scared the everloving shit out of him.

Because of this I avoided ALL post offices in the Dallas area for over a year, looked behind me every time I was alone at night, and absolutely, positively, will never SPEAK my phone number to another human in my lifetime. If you get it, it'll be typed into your phone for you or written down.

Thanks, Creepy Stalker.

Thursday, April 7, 2011


A second, different, guest blogger. Enjoy!

I want to preface this by saying that I think a well-thought-out, timely obscenity can be a beautiful thing. It relieves stress, it makes a good punchline, it can put someone else at ease.

But there are limits.

Men who swear constantly: You sound like idiots. You are not Joe Pesci in "My Cousin Vinny," and we are not re-enacting "Scarface." When we are walking down the street and every other word out of your mouth contains four letters, it makes me think you either a) have a terrible vocabulary or an inability to express yourself or, worse, b) are trying to sound "cool." If you think swearing amounts to coolness, you must have really loved the seventh grade.

Some recent examples: A guy I had not even gone out with yet was e-mailing me to plan our date. By virtue of his having my e-mail address, he was able to g-chat me (a topic for another post, entitled YOU ARE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU ARE BOTHERING ME). In the middle of class, this pops up on my screen: "F--- this workday. F--- it in its mother----ing a--." Then, when we finally did go on a first date, to one of my city's nicer Japanese restaurants, frequented by older Japanese people, I couldn't stop myself from growing red everytime he spoke. At one point we were engaged in a conversation about the tsunami and resulting crisis, and this was his valuable contribution: "Yeah, they're f---ed."

My mother always told me: No one can embarrass you but you. Not true, mom. A guy you are on a date with who sounds like a complete douchebag because he wants to sound "hard" by swearing every 4 seconds? He can embarrass you. Dating is a long conversation in which you're trying to find out about the other person. When the conversation calls for its own bleep button, that's all the other person hears. Restrain yourself, and save the blue streak for guys' night. I hear they love it.


Our very first guest blog!! I love hearing other people's stories, hopefully you will too.
So obviously this post can only apply to men. So incase you men are unsure of what exactly a mama’s boy is, let me define it for you. A mama’s boy is a grown man who is excessively attached to his mother at an age where men are expected to be independent. By independent, I specifically mean financially. I get that sometimes in your early 20s, you may need a little boost here and there from a family member to get by, because I know I did…but by the time you are in your, oh, late 30s, you best be able to pay your own damn rent, iron your own dress shirts and buy your own groceries. And lord knows, if you cannot do these things…you DEFINITELY should not be dating.

Trust me, I speak from experience. My most recent relationship, if I even want to call it that, I was basically someone’s mom for 3 months. I should have seen the signs. Date one was a movie night. Date two was another movie night. Date three was kind of impromptu and I had cooked dinner…he loved my cooking and being a dietitian I like to cook…so there you go. We started to have this relationship where I was always cooking dinner, dessert, brownies…and he was coming over and eating it. This guy actually had the nerve to call me in the afternoon and basically put in his order of what he wanted for dinner. Soon I found out that he also does this to his mom…who just so happens to live walking distance from him. I also found out she irons his clothing, does his laundry and gives him money.

No wonder when his phone rang at midnight (which it did pretty much every time he was over) it was always his mom. They would yip and yap at each other in Hebrew (ALSO KNOW MOST ISRAELI MEN ARE HABITUAL MAMA’S BOYS-YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!), probably saying something to the effect of “Son, why aren’t you here for dinner” and “Mom, I will be there for lunch tomorrow, please make ____ and have ___ dollars ready for me to pay for____.”

P.S. This guy turns 37 in May! So I am pretty sure those fancy roses and card I got for Valentine’s Day I can thank Mommie Dearest for, not Moochie McGee.

I admit I feel pretty pathetic for putting up with all of this. His looks did get him pretty far in my book, but no man like that is going to put a ring on my finger (or probably even want to BECAUSE I AM NOT HIS MOM!)…and at 37…I highly doubt any woman would put up with that in a boyfriend or husband for very long. I can bet if I look up this loser in 10 years he will still be in his same clusterfuck apartment pulling the same BS with women and still going to his mom’s for lunch and borrowing money from her to date-which, by the way, he admitted to me he does! Awesome. Any of you ladies want his number?

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Just wait, there's more! We have a guest blogger (which I'm really excited to read), YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE A CREEPY STALKER, and YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE BATSHIT CRAZY - both of which are hilarious, yet pathetic, personal experiences in dating.


Sure, all of us have had those moments after a bad relationship where we're like "all men/women are evil, I'm never dating again." However, those of us that are normal, functioning human beings can get over that after a few weeks or months of reflection and get back to a healthy view of humanity and ourselves.

We all have that friend or acquaintance (female used for simplicity, but I'm sure there are men out there like this) - "All men are evil, everyone is out to screw me over, I can't get in a relationship because it'll just end badly." No one wants to be around her because she is always bringing the mood down. You tell her about a really good date, and her response is "I doubt he'll call, he probably just wants sex."

She always makes excuses why guys don't like her specifically, yet are able to carry on healthy relationships with many females across the country and the world. "They don't like me because my thighs are too big." "I'm a strong woman, men hate a strong woman." "My boobs are too small." "I need to lose 20 lbs."

No, you know what? It's not your thighs, your boobs, your independence, or your weight. Ever hear that old saying, "It's not you, it's me"? Well, hate to say it, BUT IT IS YOU. There are fat chicks, thunder thighs, A-cups, and MANY strong women in relationships with partners who respect them and love them. You, however, are an annoying, negative bitch who makes it impossible to even get past a conversation with a guy without them figuring out you're batshit crazy.

If you're lucky enough to even get a guy to ask you out without ripping his head off about how you believe he'll take you to a restaurant, force you to pay, then make you drive to his apartment where he will tell you if you don't have sex with him you're worthless and he'll never talk to you again. After that he'll probably kick you out, make you walk home in the snow, and send hate mail to your entire family, all while sending out mindfuck emails to you saying he loves you and you should come back.

NO, you idiot, THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN. IF you get past that point and go on the date, he'll figure out he probably doesn't want to date you when you are negative and condescending the whole date and talk about guys who have treated you like crap in the past. He bolts, rightfully so, and you chalk this up to the same "all men are evil" explanation. You are, in yourself, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

We get you've had some bad dates and relationships. But take a look around you - your parents, your friends, random strangers, famous people, whoever - at least SOME of these people are in normal, stable relationships where both parties are equally happy and no one plays mind games. So what's the common denominator here? YOU. People can't have relationships with you because of your crazy ass antics. Here's a suggestion - swallow your pride, go to therapy, talk to a friend, and stop being such a CRAZY BITCH.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


Ok, that may sound IS harsh, but it's sadly true.

In college there was a point where I lived with three other girls (luckily I spend most of the time at my boyfriend's place for my own personal sanity). At the time, I had a long-term boyfriend, another of the roommates had an equally long-term boyfriend, and the third had no problem finding dates and dated a couple of guys during our year of residence. The fourth roommate, whom we'll call Amy, was painfully single. Painfully, dramatically, and tearfully single.

When I say she was the epitome of everything guys hate, I really have no other way of explaining it. Not only was she the type of person who practically oozed desperation, but if she ever had any success in landing one date, she would scare the guy off with her clingyness, drama, random tears, and inability to stop talking.

1) STAGE 5 CLINGER I say this as a victim of the clinging. She'd cling to ANYONE, girls, guys, children, small animals. Amy was incapable of being alone. Once she had a drink, it was over. She was the girl you didn't want to bring to a bar because if you happened to hit it off with a guy, she'd cling to his friend and they'd both bolt to save the friend from her. She was, in fact, the anti-wingwoman. Now imagine this after an unsuspecting guy took her on a date - I watched her text and call and text and call over and over and over simply because she didn't get a response within 5 minutes. Then she'd start crying "Why don't boys liiiike me?" to which I couldn't give her the real answer, because that would be counterproductive.

2) TEARY MCCRY This poor girl had no self esteem. None. She'd cry at the drop of a hat - when something didn't go her way, when she was frustrated, when she had her daily "why don't boys like me" cry, when she got drunk. She was always the one that would show up with a friend at the door who had to take her home because she'd get wasted and start crying at a bar, presumably because she got rejected or because no guys paid attention to her. If there's one thing that says "come date me, I'd be a great girlfriend," it's someone who cries at a bar every time she has more than 3 drinks.

3) JUST SHUUUUUT UP Amy could not stop talking. She had no concept of how to be in a room with a living being and not have a conversation. There were no moments of silence in our apartment, because she would fill them with her mindless chatter. The best part was that she didn't even listen to anyone else, she'd interrupt and tell her own story that took an hour, following you from room to room in the house and would even keep talking when went into the bathroom and closed the door. I was bombarded with unnecessary talk at all times: "How was school?" "How was your nap?" "How was your shower?" "How were the last 20 minutes I was in the restroom and therefore not directly en communique with you?" Now just imagine being her boyfriend. It makes me cringe to even think about it.

4) DRAMA QUEEN Everything was a big deal. If I moved her laundry basket from in front of the washer to on top of the washer, it was a conversation. A LONG conversation. If one of her friends didn't call her the minute they said they would, she'd get angry and be "in a fight" with them for days. If she missed the bus and was 3 minutes late to class, her whole day was ruined and thus she would ruin the day of everyone with whom she came in contact. I don't even want to know what happened when someone got her order wrong - it could've been a tearful situation, a bitchy situation, or worse - BOTH.

The worst part about all of this is she wasn't an unattractive girl. She was kind of short and thick, think Snooki-sized (I can't believe that is now a unit of measurement), but definitely dressed well for her size and shape. Her face was cute, and her hair was always taken care of. Not someone you'd look at on the street and think she'd never get a date in her life.

Boys can smell desperation like a fat guy can smell a pizza, and no one wants to date someone who has no self-esteem. Guys don't like criers. Shit, I don't like criers. Guys don't like drama, and guys don't like girls who won't shut the fuck up. Sadly she really was the embodiment of EVERYTHING guys hate in a normal-looking, well-manicured package.

How she became the person who would profess her love to a guy on the first date and cry when he didn't reciprocate, I don't know. Look, we know you want a date. No one needs to know just HOW MUCH you want a date, especially the person you want to date. And once you get a date, hold off on the crazy for a bit. Don't let it all out at once. It's also probably not in your best interest to call someone more than once a day, especially if they aren't calling you back. And don't leave crying messages. Ever.

Monday, April 4, 2011


Really you could be single because you're clingy, or you could be single because you're a drunk, but in this case, he was single because he was both. It was a pretty lose-lose situation.

Once again I partially blame myself for pursuing someone I was not physically attracted to because our personalities seemed to mesh really well. Key word: seemed. After those few initial weeks when you're trying to get to know someone, the comfort apparently set in and he sadly turned into not the funny, interesting person I thought he was, but actually his clingy, cheesy, annoying real self. Oh, and that self was also drunk at all times.

I think everyone has had a "let's go out for drinks" date at some point in their lives. However, I think most people understand that when you go out on a drinks date, it's a little different then going out and getting hammered with your frat buddies. Sadly, this guy hadn't figured this out yet.

I don't drink a lot. My body doesn't like it, I get bloated and don't feel "right" for hours and sometimes even days after drinking, so I keep it to once or twice a month, preferably in a party setting. Yes, I said bloated. What female likes to feel that way? Not I. A drinks date is one of those things you do at the beginning to loosen the tension, not something you do EVERY NIGHT.

"Hey, let's go get drinks." Ok, fine. In my mind, this meant have one to two drinks and talk, then move on to perhaps watching a movie or simply going our separate ways. Nope, not here. I'd have one to two drinks, and he'd have six or seven. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

By the time we left the bar, he was embarrassingly trashed, turning into sappy clingy 15-year-old who needed affirmation at all times and tried to convince me that when he was nearly running into walls that he wasn't drunk. When I would try to be the mature, sober one, telling him that I would drive his car, he'd insist I "stop being so mean" and "I'm not drunk."

When I finally realized that this would happen every time we went to an establishment with alcoholic beverages, I suggested we stay in one night and watch a movie. Instantly he offered to make me a drink, which I declined (during the course of this one-month of dating, I gained at least 5 lbs from alcohol alone), but he took it upon himself to make one for him. Then he took it upon himself to make himself 4 more during the course of the movie. Once again, by the end of the movie, he was so trashed I had to figure out how to get out of his place without him whining, which was, sadly, not accomplished. He wanted to cuddle, make out, or pull his most annoying drunk move - slow dance in the living room.

Are you kidding? Sappy shit like that makes me want to vomit. I felt like I was dating a 12-year-old and I was his mother, having to deal with his stupidity, really annoying tendencies, and trying my best to keep him from smothering me with drunken hugs or turning into Whiney McBitch when I wanted to get the hell out. The night before I broke up with him I put up with nearly fifteen minutes of a drunken attempt at cuddling that had him almost violently stroking my hair and whispering cheesy nothings in my ear.

Ladies and gentlemen, some advice. It's probably in your best interest to not get WICKED TRASHED any time early on in a relationship, let alone EVERY time. Take a cue from your's only polite - if he or she stops at two drinks, STOP AT 2. This is not a competition. And clingyness...well, we'll discuss that at a later time. But let's just say that when you want to see someone every single day and you've been dating less than a month, it's a little terrifying to anyone, especially me, who desperately needs her personal space. A LOT of personal space.


Don't freak out too much, ladies, this one is mostly for the guys.

During my year-and-a-half stint in Kansas City, I didn't date much. I wasn't good at it, and I didn't have many friends to introduce me to people. This is the only reason why I even gave this guy my number, which was a terrible mistake.

After too many years of being a member of 24Hour Fitness, they sent me a card in the mail for a free personal training session. I figured, "It's free, why not?" I went in and signed up with a seemingly innocuous personal trainer for the following week.

I come to the gym in a big tshirt, yoga pants, my hair back, and glasses on. I really figured that this was all I needed to do to not be a target of unwanted stares while on the cardio machines or doing any exercise that involved my ass being in the air. Well, Mr. Personal Trainer thought the baggy shirt and glasses combo was sexxxy, and following our session we chatted a bit. I wanted to go home and eat, because I'm always starving after working out, but he wouldn't let up, so I allowed the conversation to continue.

While he was reasonably attractive and in good shape, I found out that he had only been in Kansas City two months and had moved here because of a girl, which apparently hadn't worked out. So he's either here for two months and gets dumped, or creepily follows a girl he's not dating to a new city and gets promptly rejected. Either way, not a good sign.

Due to my intense fear of confrontation, when he asked for my number, I gave it to him thinking I could just not respond and that would be that. That, in fact, was not just that.

That night: "Hi, this is Steve from the gym, just wanted to let you know this is my number :)"
I didn't reply.

The following morning: "Hey, how's your morning? ;)"
FIRST OF ALL, if ANYONE knows ANYTHING about me, I hate mornings with a firey passion that burns deep into my soul. My parents know not to call me, speak to me, or make any communicative attempt before noon. Here's this fella texting me at 9am with a CHEERFUL EMOTICON. It sent me into a spiral of rage. Keep in mind we have still not gone on a date.

One day later: "Hi, how's your day going so far? :)"
No response. Ask me a real question, dumbass. How far could this text conversation go? "Oh, I just put some dudes in jail, how bout yours?" "I trained some folks." aaaaand done. Had he asked a question even REMOTELY relevant to what we had talked about or even did the day before, i.e. "Are you sore today?" since we worked out, I might have given him a chance. Unfortunately this moron lacked the personality to even compose a text message with enough thought to make me want to read it, let alone respond.

For the next few days, probably in total about a week, I get a text a day from this character, to which I send NO RESPONSES. Not one of those text messages had any substance, nor did he ever ask me on any date. AND he used emoticons in EVERY SINGLE TEXT.

Do not use emoticons in your text messages unless you a) have a vagina or b) have a vagina. Seriously. It screams "I'll probably cry after sex." Even if you're female, use emoticons SPARINGLY, and rarely at the beginning of a relationship. There may be different rules in some Asian communities regarding emoticons, but outside of that exception, DO NOT USE THEM.

Also, just a general rule, both guys and girls, if you text TWICE without getting a response, the ball's out of your court. Either wait for the person's grandmother to recover like the trooper you are and they will text you again, or cut your losses and give up. Stalky Stalkerton never landed his or her dream date. Take it from me, I've been that person (but never with emoticons - I'm not THAT bad).


I'm a single, 29-year-old attorney living in LA, part-time game show contestant, part-time beach bum. Through my years of dating I have come to realize why some people are single, even when they themselves cannot. From clingers to cheapskates to drunks, I've met them all, and dated a few. This informative website is designed to tell those guys and girls who completely and utterly fail at dating exactly why they happen to suck at it. It may be harsh, it may be crude, but it's all honest.

I'm sure you're wondering how a person still single herself is qualified (or at least believes herself to be) to tell others why they're single? Well, first off, I know why I'm single. As to not come off like a total dick, I will enumerate below the reasons I believe I'm single.

Having come from a background of eight consecutive years of relationships (three, to be exact) with only a six month break in the middle somewhere, I have at some point in time held down healthy relationships. In fact, the first one is still one of my best friends. I do, however, have a little bit of an issue with the beginning part of dating, BEFORE a relationship occurs, which explains why I can't seem to get into one at the current time.

Why I'm single:

1) I don't get out much. This sounds pathetic and sad, but it isn't as bad as it seems. I don't, however, really have ways of meeting people other than the general "bar hopping" with friends and work (where I have eight coworkers and only one of them male). I've exhausted the "friends of friends" thing, which honestly I've found is the most reliable and comfortable method of dating people, and I've found that the pickings on the internet, in person, generally let you know instantly why they had to go to the internet to date.

2) I'm perhaps, a bit, maybe a smidge, overzealous. Yeah, I admit it. I have been the overtexter, the overanalyzer, the "gets attached too fast" girl. However, that comes somewhat from my background - I've pretty much always been able to talk my way into whatever I want, whether it be a better grade, free or upgraded services at places, or even a conviction when I was a prosecutor. I'm an attorney. We expect to be able to talk our way into anything. Unfortunately, you can't talk someone into liking you. I finally had the revelation in the past six months that "If they don't like you now, they probably won't like you next week either."

3) I haven't met the right person yet. Really and truly I think this is the main one. I am somewhat picky, although not ridiculous about it, and am not willing to settle. If I'm only kind of feeling it, you get maybe a week tops for me to get more into you or you're out. I don't waste my time on people that I can tell I'm not 100% into. I'm not an equal opportunity dater. I don't give EVERYONE a chance. Sometimes you just know there's nothing there, and it's ok to say "no thanks" even if you're single and looking.

4) My looks and personality don't match. Perhaps this is a category all its own, but I find myself rather attractive. Based on audience response, I don't believe my opinion is too far skewed in one direction of the other. However, I'm somewhat quirky. I'm a closet nerd, a jackass, a sarcastic bitch, an intellectual, somewhat overbearing at times, and a social-phobe at others. The guys who see me as something they are physically attracted to generally aren't looking for what comes out of my mouth. They want the sorta stupid, easy-to-manipulate dumb blonde that will be arm candy and put out. It also works against me in the other direction, however - the guys I would be interested in are not interested in ditsy blondes who have nothing in their head and can't hold a conversation, and often won't even approach me because that's unfortunately how I look.

5) I have an intense fear of rejection. Why don't you go up to the guys you're interested in and talk to THEM, you ask? Unfortunately, this is where my social anxiety comes in. I'm great in a group of friends, even when that includes new people, but when it comes to introducing myself to a hot stranger? No thanks. The humiliation I would suffer from a rejection would be far worse than simply not meeting them at all. The only time this is possible is if there have been glances exchanged, I'm pretty drunk, and I have a wingwoman (or man). That combo happens about as often as it rains in LA, this year excluded.

So there you go. That's me. Be forewarned, however - nothing is safe. If we date, you'll probably end up in this blog. Sure, I'll change your name, but probably not incriminating details. So sit back, relax, and learn why the hell you're still single.