Once upon a time, in a distant land called Virginia, there was a fanciful young pre-teen named Amy, who would go home after school every day of sixth grade with her best friend Katie Gould, and proceed to clinically obsess over her number one crush, Lei Lei Ni.  With “Total Eclipse of the Heart” on repeat in the background, Amy and Katie would discuss Lei Lei’s many attributes: he watched Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, he had shiny dark hair, and he sat one desk over.  Twas the stuff of great love stories.  But the real high of the afternoon was when Amy would pick up the phone and tentatively dial Lei Lei’s number, wait until the exact second he picked up and said hello, and then slam the phone down, adrenaline pumping and hormones percolating. 

I don’t know how to tell you this people, but that girl, she was me.  And maybe it was immature (maybe?) but I look back on those afternoons as quite formative in my development when it comes to the opposite sex.  I was essentially sticking my baby toe into the pool of relationships and pulling it out at the last second, deciding the water was too cold to jump in, and instead running to find the ice cream man.  I wasn’t ready to actually kiss a boy, or hey SPEAK to a boy, but I could at least dial his number.  Which at that age, is all you really need to fulfill your interest.  Why else would Dreamphone be the highest grossing game in history??  (That’s totally made up of course, however, I do believe the game has made a social impact on color coordination, making it extremely cool to be not wearing anything yellow.) 

Then, just yesterday, my girlfriend and I were sitting outside eating ice cream sandwiches during an extremely productive work break, when she mentioned her one problem with the new dude she was dating: his extreme tendency to text.  All he does is text!, she explained.  He never picks up the phone and calls, whether it’s to plan a date, ask how her trip to Spain was, or discuss his pretentious-y opinions on Tree of Life.  We analyzed it for a bit, cause we have vaginas, and eventually we got to the root of the problem.  After much iPhone scrolling and chocolate covered gesturing we came to the conclusion that it’s actually her fault.  I know why he always texts me, she realized in a rare moment of clarity brought on by her sugar high, it’s because I always text him.  

Ah ha!  It’s the age old concept that can apply to so many problems in our relationships.  The idea that if you act like you’re okay with something, it will perpetuate.  If you accept certain behavior patterns, and even ascribe to them yourself, they won’t change.  After all, how can my friend complain about the constant texting when she does the exact same thing?  She doesn’t call to ask how his day was either, she writes.  Via intensive snack break self-discovery, she even realized that in the very beginning of their dating history, whenever he would call – she would text him back.  Hello, learned behavior!  Then we realized that this thing, the text monster, is bigger than both of us. 

Truth is, sometimes I really like texting. On one hand, it affords you the ability to stop and think.  With texting you can strategically say the right thing (after texting a couple samples to your girlfriends for feedback) whereas in a phone call you have to think on your feet and try to remember to be cool.  (“What did you do Friday night?”  “Me?  So You Think You Can Dance marathon.  I mean…”)  In a text, you can be sassy and/or indifferent even if you’re actually really excited you finally heard from him.  Further, you can properly time your interactions.  In my research I have discovered that the time you wait to text back a boy is inversely proportional to the time it takes him to respond to your text.  If you delay your response for hours, he will respond in minutes, and if you wait days, mere seconds.  It’s math.  On the other hand, you’re left to interpret tone and intention in texts coming your way.  Not to mention grammar-challenged men who say things like, “your going out.”  What?  My going out?  Oh, you mean “you’re.”  Is that a question or a statement or an instruction or a I GIVE UP. 

Good or bad, I think we can all agree that the amount of texting that goes on in relationships now is out of control.  After a great deal (well, one day) of thought, I have decided to chalk the whole phenomenon up to the fact that girls no longer go home from school and call the boys they like with their best friends giggling nervously in the background, hanging up as soon as they answer.  Now, they shoot him a text from below their geometry books (they still teach that right?) in fifth period.  As we have learned, if you start off a relationship by texting, that’s all it will ever be.  So it makes sense that if you start off all of your interactions with the opposite sex that way, the rest will follow accordingly.

The point being, if you text with a guy you’re dating all the time and you hate it, but you stifle your annoyance and accept his texts as a thorough level of communication, well then, things are probably never going to change.  If it bothers you, stop using the text to your own lazy, socially-challenged, advantage.  Give him a ring.  Drop him a line.  Get him on the horn!  If he doesn’t follow suit and he continues to text, and you can’t stand one more minute of it?  Don’t respond.  If he really wants to talk to you, he’ll call.

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Dear Mr. Yuck,
Don’t try and hit on us by asking if we’re someone else, especially if that someone is much much older.
Thanks,
All Women

guy behind me in line at coffee this morning: hey, this is awkward, but my mom loves you.
me: i’m sorry – what?
guy: aren’t you laura, from general hospital?
me: no, and i’m pretty sure she’s at least 20 years older than me.
guy: sure you’re not her?
me: positive.
guy: well, do you wanna get coffee sometime?
me: we’re at coffee.

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A Friday reminder of why we love our Mr. Yucks, because sometimes they are très très chaud.

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Since my post yesterday, there has been a surprisingly strong reaction to my comments on the plastic food storage container that I like to call Tupperware. I’ve received emails, texts, even facetimes, from friends and foes, not to mention a cease and desist letter from Tupperware themselves, proclaiming that I’ve got it wrong – everyone uses Tupperware!

Even one hilarious photo from a girlfriend of mine, taken in her fiancé’s kitchen, with the caption:

“Should I be worried???!”

I’m not sure how I feel about a product that contains 3-month old leftover cous cous being the thing that people finally respond to from my blog, but hey – apparently it’s an important issue. And I am prepared to tackle it.

First off, I would like to clarify that I said single dudes. And when I say single, I’m talking really single and ready to miiiingle. If you know what I mean. I’m not talking about your boyfriend, I’m not talking about your weirdly responsible cousin. I talking playas (wait, does this make me officially a playa hata?) and their hoes (which I guess is you in this analogy, sorry), aka: Mr. Yuck. I stand by my point that if a single guy has a whole shitload of Tupperware, keeping his cereal, potato salad and leftover lasagna fresh – his mom probably had something to do with it.

Point in case, my friend, let’s just call him Will because that’s his name, gchatted me yesterday and this is how the convo went:

Will: Hey, that’s not fair. I have Tupperware!
Amy: Okay, well where did you get it?
Will: My mom.
Amy: …
Will: Oh right. Also, I wanted to tell you that your blog is amazing. I read it every day. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a beautiful genius?*
Amy: Well, I never! [insert Blanche Devereaux Southern accent]

In any case, I didn’t realize that I was starting a war on Tupperware with my post, and I certainly didn’t realize it had so many allies. However, I am pleased about the take home point: we as a society are keeping our food fresh. Most of all I’m proud that in this divided era, we can unite behind something. Perhaps Tupperware is the new Rebecca Black. Because when it comes down to it, Tupperware is amazing. It saves you money, saves you time and keeps your perishable of choice as fresh as a daisy. No wonder it gets its own party!

*Not positive this part happened.

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If you’re like me, you spent most of Memorial Day weekend at other people’s houses, enjoying various barbecued meats and domestic beers (salmon bbq sandwiches, by the way, are highly underrated – spread the word).  If you’re also like me, whenever you’re in other people’s homes, you get really nosy.  As I spent Saturday, Sunday and Monday in and out of different friends’ kitchens, going through the pulled pork assembly line, innocuously procuring a third helping of guacamole, or grabbing Coors Light from the fridge, I couldn’t help but notice how different each home, and in particular each kitchen, was from the one before.  I was struck by the fact that you can tell a lot about a person, or a guy, from the items he keeps where he cooks.

Ice cube trays.  This says responsible!  Anyone who has ever owned ice cube trays in place of an automatic ice dispenser knows how much of a pain it is.  Ice cube trays are a sign of someone who understands that you have to put in work to get a reward, and who understands the consequences of his actions.  Too lazy to refill?  No ice for you!  If his trays are actually full – that’s another 10 points.  And if he has a bottle of Belvedere chillin’ (literally and figuratively) in the freezer, even better.  Cocktail hour!

Tupperware.  I’d steer clear.  No straight single male voluntarily purchases Tupperware.  If it’s in his cabinet, that means he’s a mama’s boy whose mother still stocks his kitchen—which is obviously only acceptable in college—and probably also picks out his clothes.  If the Tupperware contains recently cooked leftovers, signifying regular appearances by Mommy Deareast to drop off her casseroles and/or judgment, run. 

Le Creuset cookware.  As the old adage goes: if a guy has fancy cookware, he just got out of a relationship.  Le Creuset specific is even scarier.  That means he not only has an ex with whom he was so serious that they shared sauté pans and skillets, but she also has really good taste.  I’m intimidated and I’m not even dating the guy!    

Chef Boyardee.  It’s endearing and even a little nostalgic to have this vaguely disgusting treat on hand, however, the second he refers to himself as Chef Mike-ardee, shut it down.

Target potholders.  Frugal and tasteful!  As much as I despite people who call it Tar-zhay, it’s still pretty much the best.

Arugula.  One package is okay, but if you see evidence of multiple purchases of everyone’s favorite edible plant, it’s time to seriously question his sexuality.   The same goes for excessive Portobello mushrooms… or a strawberry stem remover.  (Note: Rocket, while closely related to arugula, is totally fine.  That just means he’s recently travelled to Europe.)

Crock-pot.  Like the ice cube trays, this is a clue that Mr. Man is willing to put in the work to get results!  A slow cooker shows both patience and planning, two things that might not seem like a big deal at first, but will become key when you’re buying plane tickets to his best friend’s wedding, two years down the line.  Also, Crock-pot ownership ensures that he likes to spend weeknights at home, curled up on the couch in cozy socks, eating stews and watching The Voice.  That’s a given.

What about you?  Have you had any experiences that make you want to pack your knives and go?

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Today at lunch, my friend Lissie and I were walking to our favorite sandwich joint and she was telling me that she recently realized that she started to like like one of her guy friends.  She figured out she liked him because after they Gchatted for a couple hours the other day, she reread their chat that night.  Dammit, she thought, I must like him.  I agreed that this was the most surefire to judge your feelings for a guy.  I asked her what was next and she told me, nothing, because my friend called dibs.

It turns out that several years ago, Lissie’s friend met Adam of the Gchat, and immediately declared that she had the right of first refusal over him.  But it’s more complicated than that.  Adam only knows the dibs girl because Lissie introduced them, back when she thought he was just her LSAT instructor, not her future crush.  He’s not in any kind of independent contact with Lissie’s grabby friend, doesn’t have her number and only sees her in group hangs organized by Lissie.  After hearing the background, I declared vehemently, “That girl does not have dibs.”

Does dibs still exist?  Did it ever?  Let me preface this by saying that I am a strong believer in girl code.  If my friend is dating a guy, I am about as attracted to him as I would be a potted plant.  He is an inanimate object.  It’s not because I am such a good person, I am just not interested in my friends’ boyfriends because in my mind they are not an option.  It would be ideal if this wasn’t limited to friends, either.  It would be nice if in any situation where people are already happily dating, we could all choose to respect the relationship and leave them alone.  I absolutely hate the expression, “You can’t steal someone who doesn’t want to be stolen.”  Wrong.  People mess up, people fall to temptation, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they wanted to be stolen. What they are doing could be a huge mistake.  I’m not judging, all I am saying is that it sucks to be someone’s regret, especially if they get back together.

However, Lissie’s situation is different.  She is living in a free market society, where no one is dating anyone.  This isn’t her friend’s boyfriend, her friend just likes him – and not even that much, since they barely know each other.  Basically her friend wants to reserve the right to date him sometime in the future, if she ever gets around to it.  Can you declare ownership over a person when they haven’t indicated any interest in you?  And truthfully, would you want to?  If the only reason your boyfriend is with you and not your friend is because you spoke first, wouldn’t that be depressing?  (As long as it’s one person at a time), people should be with who they want to be with.  This is for them to decide, not some kind of bizarre relationship-shotgun system.  So to Lissie I say, Gchat away!  Maybe she won’t end up liking Adam in the long run, and maybe he won’t end up liking her, but at least let it be them who decides whether or not it works out, not the girl who called “dibs”.

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Dating often feels like a game, but sometimes it feels like you are out before you even got a chance to play (or show your best moves).  I’m talking about when the guy you’re seeing just up and stops calling, starts acting distant overnight or loses interest faster than Newt Gingrich got weird.  I’m talking about single-elimination dating.

So, in honor of everybody’s favorite college basketball tourny, I have created my own bracket of the things that could get you dumped in this day and age without a second chance, despite years of practice, days of preparation and hours of free throw shooting.  Some are fair, others are not; all are (unfortunately) real.  All examples are taken from either real life experiences I have stolen collected, or my dude friends being painfully honest.  (Click on bracket for a better view!)

How to Get Dumped in a Single-Elimination Dating Tournament

What do you think?  Is this March madness or are these perfectly reasonable objections?  Let me know your own single-elimination dating experiences – as dumper or dumpee!

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This weekend one of my all-time favorite movies was on inexplicable repeat on TBS.  On repeat because TBS has absolutely no confidence in our generation’s ability to focus on an entire movie in one sitting.  As a result, the romantic-comedy enablers make it possible for us to catch the last 27 minutes of a movie when we’re hungover and getting ready for brunch and the first 73 minutes several hours later, as we ride out our omelette food comas.  Once in high school, my best friend’s mom even innocently asked, does this channel only show this movie?, on a particularly Picture Perfect heavy weekend.  We laughed at her, said “uhhh, of course not” and rolled our 16-year old eyes until we realized, yeah, it kinda does.

This weekend’s semi-classic was When Harry Met Sally.  The movie that make us all wonder, how did Meg Ryan know about the high caloric content of salad dressing way back then, would we ever allow a wagon-wheel coffee table prominent placement in our living room and can men and women ever really be friends?  But besides those questions (the answers to which are: lucky guess, nope and yes of course, as long as you work together in a stressful environment which brings out both of your bad sides) the question that plagued me somewhere between my third and fourth partial viewing was: is this a Toxic Non-Relationship?  Is this a situation where one person is being strung along with intermittent reinforcement until the point where they don’t know which way is up or down?  Is Billy Crystal a Mr. Yuck?

After much inner debate, I decided no, in WHMS they are on equal footing.  Neither is leading the other on, or using the other to feel good about themselves while they harbor no interest in actually dating.  Billy and Meg are both confused and figuring out how they feel, and even though she figures it out first, that’s okay.  What is not okay, on the other hand, is the situation where one friend loves the other and the other unfortunately does not, yet they cook together every Friday night, they exchange platonic “I love yous” at the end of phone calls and they consistently avoid the topic of current love interests.  The Just Friends Toxic.

The tricky thing about the JF Toxic is that the mind-games are endless.  You know he likes spending time with you, you know he likes your spaghetti carbonara (not a euphemism), you KNOW he thinks you are one of the few “quality” girls in LA (he said so!).  Plus, when your sweet 80 year-old dry cleaner assumed you were a couple the other day when you were out running errands, he didn’t correct him.  So, what’s the problem???  Unfortunately, I have realized that what defines attraction isn’t really anything you can put your finger on.  It’s not about all the pieces adding up, it’s about what revs your engine, what winds your clock, what mystery ingredient the other person has that just makes you want to say “they are with me.”  And if you don’t have that, nothing else really matters.  Even if you really get along.

In my experience, there are three scenarios that play out when you have a JF Toxic.  One is, you work through it and become for-real friends.  This is usually only possible when you start dating someone else who you actually like, allowing it to become a funny footnote in your friendship history.  The second, you fall in love.   Rare, but possible (another reason the headgames are so complicated…sorry).  The third and most common scenario is that you get more and more confused until your mind explodes.  This being the least desirable option.

If you have a JF Toxic, ask yourself honestly, are you happy with the way things are?  Are you figuring things out or are you waiting around for someone who sees you as a buddy?  Are you saying, “I love you” and getting “love ya” in response?  Or are you pretty sure that he shares your feelings – but as long as things stay the way they are, nothing is ever going to change.  Either way, when it becomes Toxic and you feel your mind nearing explosion, your best bet is to take a break from the friendship.  I’m not saying end it, but give it some breathing room.  If you’re really meant to be just friends, this will allow you to move on and eventually you can healthily pick things back up where you left off, and if you really weren’t, well then, maybe he’ll show up at your New Year’s Eve party in street clothes with a list of reasons why he loves you.

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Last week, Forbes released a list of America’s 10 Most Toxic Cities.  The Forbes study based their research on elements such as air quality, water quality and the number of Superfund sites.  They used EPA data, Census Bureau statistics and quality-of-living indexes to determine the rankings.  They came up with a highly discouraging list, that makes the whole of California want to keep their windows closed.

Today, we give you our list.  Based on factors such as poor texting etiquette, visible fear of intimacy and a high ratio of tiger’s blood to regular, we found the towns with the most Toxic men in America.  We went a step further than lazy old Forbes, using primary data in our analysis.  Aka: stuff our friends told us.  Without further ado, I give you our results:

The Top 10 Most Toxic Cities in America … when it comes to dudes

1.  New York, NY. The concrete jungle where Toxics go to play.  NYC is positively the most Toxic city in America.  With so many shiny lights, beckoning bars and Scandinavian models, it’s almost impossible for anyone to stay focused and sober long enough to form a real relationship.

2.  Washington, D.C. Combine political gaming, self-importance and adorably rumpled suits and you get a dangerous formula.  Capitol Hill is a veritable Toxic ant farm, crawling with douches who think they are God’s gift to the budget crisis.

3.  Lawrence, KS. This college town is outrageously fun.  Too outrageously fun.  You can meet the man of your dreams at Quinton’s Bar and Deli one night, and easily never see him again.  And if it’s tournament season you might as well throw in the towel.  No one wants to be hanging out with a Jayhawk the night they inevitably screw the pooch in the first round.

4.  Chicago, IL. Midwest guys are some of the nicest around, unfortunately, for most of the year it’s too cold to go outside and actually meet anyone.

5.  Las Vegas, NV. If New York is where Toxics go to play, this is where they go to die.  If you seriously think you are going to have a stable relationship with someone you meet at XS, “the provocative new Nightclub at Encore”, then I have no sympathy for you.

6.  Austin, TX. With so many musicians running around, at some point you’re bound to take up with a scruffy bass player who can’t remember to call you because he is too busy jamming at a barbecue joint or writing lyrics on paper napkins.

7.  El Paso, TX. There are roughly 20,000 more women than men looking for love in the Sun City.  That can’t be good.

8.  Hollywood, CA. If you’re looking for a place to meet guys with hair-gel coming out their ears and don’t mind being asked whether you’re in “the industry” twenty times in one night, then Hollywood is the place for you.  Beware a city where everyone is either trying to make it, just made it or is looking for someone who did.

9.  Seaside Heights, NJ. Home of the smush room, the cast of Jersey Shore has taught us how difficult forming a lasting relationship on the Shore can truly be.

10.  Miami, FL. When a place is this fun, with a subtropical climate and year-round sunshine, no one wants to be inside watching Sandra Bullock movies on a Saturday night when they could be out trolling South Beach.  It’s no surprise that AOL/Travel readers ranked Miami as: #1 for Meeting Someone New.  Get it.  Someone NEW.

What do you think?  Any additions to the list?  Let us know where you have found the most Toxics polluting up the dating environment!

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