Chances are you've blown it with your share of potential suitors. Wouldn't it be nice if there was a treasure map of sorts to lead you from "Hey, I'm a nice, innocent guy who needs a beer pong partner and you caught my eye earlier," to "Hey, I'm a nice, innocent guy and I'm taking you home to my parents' house for Thanksgiving this year because I want them to meet my new and very favoritest girlfriend"?
You're in luck. Go with the foolproof, easy (and fun!) to use E.M.I.L.Y. System:
Exposing secrets: Relationships are built on a solid foundation of honesty and trust. So divulge everything, preferably on the first date, if not sooner. Tales of boyfriends past, your struggle with meth addiction, the time you got chlamydia after a run-of-the-mill gang-bang; it's all fair game. He's going to find out eventually, right? "Remaining mysterious" is an antiquated practice; this is the era of Facebook and Twitter and sharing EVERYTHING. He'll respect your openness SO MUCH MORE if you tell him about the time you got dumped for getting thrown out of Lollapalooza after you *ever-so-innocently* punched a girl in the face because she asked your then-boyfriend if he was "In line for the bathroom" (stupid slut) in the beginning instead of getting to know each other first.
Mass texting: Duh. What else are relationships built on besides honesty and trust? Communication, of course. So keep it up on your end. Don't. Stop. Texting. Ever. Even when you can't think of anything to say, even when you have nothing to say, and especially when he tells you in advance that he'll be busy. Guys absolutely love being digitally stalked. If you've gone over your monthly limit on texts, e-mail him. Write on his Facebook wall. This step is exceptionally effective if performed when you are intoxicated late at night. Nothing says, "I'm normal, date me" like 14 incoherent (and unanswered) text messages and 3 e-mails asking your new beau about his sister's wedding, telling him how much you miss him, and subsequently berating him for not being kind and considerate enough to reply to you at 4:30am on a Tuesday.
Insanely apologize: Ooops. He ended up getting a little peeved about your influx of "communication". So apologize. Beg for forgiveness, attempt to elicit sympathy by blaming extenuating circumstances for your behavior "my cat died, I put a red sock in with my whites, AND I cut my knee while shaving... ", and tell him how much of a connection you felt even though it's only been two weeks. Guys will respect you so much more if you don't respect yourself, so get down on your hands and knees, and beseech him not to "walk out on you like everyone else always does".
Lead with your vagina: He may not be buying the bit about your dead cat (shouldn't have posted that photo of Blinky taking his first bath 2 days after he supposedly perished in a freak accident involving a Glade air freshener and your sinister roommate). So lower yourself down a few more levels. Waggling your vagina at this dude is a surefire way to win back his affection, respect, and admiration. Send him some dirty yet tasteful photos with captions like, "C'mon, baby, don't you at least wanna come fuck me?" or "I can't go on living without sucking your big dick at least once more." Trust me. It won't make him start using you primarily for sex after he's been out with his boys and couldn't find anyone else to take home. So harness that indomitable sexual power you know you possess deep inside you and reel that boy back in. Your relationship will be back to normal in no time at all - probably better than ever!
Yeah ... he gone: Oh, wait. Wait just a second here. This guy has already realized that you are a schizoid whore with no self-respect, and, according to too many of your "getting-to-know-me" stories, a drinking problem, an angry streak, and a propensity for late-night binge eating. He's had one foot out the door for awhile. After using you as an all-else-failed, last-option, go-to glory hole a few times, he'll move on.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Must Love Blogs
The influx of fellow class of 2002 Ignatius grads whose statuses change from "In a Relationship and posting annoying couples photos constantly" to "Engaged and posting statuses about how difficult planning a wedding is" got me thinking. Why am I single and jobless? Perhaps I just haven't met the right guy. So, a classified ad for all you potential suitors out there.
I am:
Cute-pretty, not hot-pretty, with a great sense of humor, a slight tendency towards unnecessarily crazy shenanigans (READ: don't blow me off or I will commit the deadly sin of over-texting); I possess an enyclopaedic knowledge of seemingly useless facts that will lead our team to victory at any Bar Trivia Night. I am an excellent cook and a nurturer; want a back massage, a new toothbrush, or some other favor done for you? I once obtained clean piss for an ex who needed it to pass a drug test in order to secure his job (true story). I like to communicate a lot, but I generally have interesting things to say. I need to be told things - I'm not good at taking a hint. I have a decent-sized stash of role-playing costumes (nothing too racy, standard slutty cop type stuff). In short, I am the over-excited puppy in the window - always taken out and played with, but never bought. And I'm a good deal, too.
You are:
Cute but not too hot, have a prominent nose, preferably brown hair and blue eyes, in decent enough shape to throw a football around, approximately 6'1", listens to electronic and indie music and enjoys live shows, is HILARIOUSLY funny, intelligent, likes sports (and doesn't mind educating me about them - I like learning), not a picky eater, possesses a tolerance for borderline crazy antics, above average sized penis, has steady employment, looooooves dogs (especially mine), last name sounds good with Emily.
Any questions?
I am:
Cute-pretty, not hot-pretty, with a great sense of humor, a slight tendency towards unnecessarily crazy shenanigans (READ: don't blow me off or I will commit the deadly sin of over-texting); I possess an enyclopaedic knowledge of seemingly useless facts that will lead our team to victory at any Bar Trivia Night. I am an excellent cook and a nurturer; want a back massage, a new toothbrush, or some other favor done for you? I once obtained clean piss for an ex who needed it to pass a drug test in order to secure his job (true story). I like to communicate a lot, but I generally have interesting things to say. I need to be told things - I'm not good at taking a hint. I have a decent-sized stash of role-playing costumes (nothing too racy, standard slutty cop type stuff). In short, I am the over-excited puppy in the window - always taken out and played with, but never bought. And I'm a good deal, too.
You are:
Cute but not too hot, have a prominent nose, preferably brown hair and blue eyes, in decent enough shape to throw a football around, approximately 6'1", listens to electronic and indie music and enjoys live shows, is HILARIOUSLY funny, intelligent, likes sports (and doesn't mind educating me about them - I like learning), not a picky eater, possesses a tolerance for borderline crazy antics, above average sized penis, has steady employment, looooooves dogs (especially mine), last name sounds good with Emily.
Any questions?
Friday, April 8, 2011
Megan Levant, a Primer: Charlie Sheen’s “3rd Goddess” is about more than just porn and vodka
The secret’s out, I guess. My twin sister does indeed enjoy smutty films and distilled grain alcohol. Don’t we all (I’m watching Sex Spa 2 right now)? Yeah, she dresses provocatively and frequents the LA club scene. Oh, no! What an anomaly. A twenty-something girl wears short skirts, high heels, and likes to dance on the stage at Voyeur! Maybe all you uncreative defamers quoted her Twitter About Me (out of context, I might add) while you were waiting on the OTHER side of the velvet rope.
I hope she isn’t pissed off when she reads this post. It isn’t fun to watch your sister dragged through the mud by a bunch of “reporters” (and I use that term loosely – whatever happened to journalistic integrity? Celebuzzcrap.com must have omitted that portion from their employee handbook…) who have never met Miss Megan and honestly think that she would call herself a “dog in need of rescue” (or not honestly, but for the sake of sensationalism, whatever). No. That’s not the case. After two-plus decades of having the world’s greatest bodyguard and protector, I just think it’s time to reimburse my sister for everything she’s done for me.
I know Megan better than anyone else. I’ve literally known her since before we were born. I can tell you, for instance, that she doesn’t like to share straws with people (in drinks, you idiots), and that when we were little she would rather starve than let any of her food touch each other on her plate. I can tell you that, although she is a far superior swimmer than I am, I did in fact beat her in a 50m freestyle race at Monarch Day Camp – she claimed it was because her goggles fell off.
Now, follow me on a journey into the soul of Megan Levant:
-She’s more loyal than a German Shepherd. Perhaps that’s why the press didn’t have more “insider” knowledge of her “mystery relationship” with the world’s most tiger-blooded individual – because she had the courtesy not to blab about it- its not her style, unlike other paramours past, who exploited their Sheen-flings for their own personal gain. As someone who grew up with a major crush on Charlie (and Emilio, too – Gordon Bombay still makes me feel all twitterpated), it sucks to watch a Post-Empire (Bret Easton Ellis on the Sheenonemenon) slandered by a bunch of girls in need of a quick buck. I saw the show in Chicago and went backstage. He’s a good guy, scratch that- a GREAT guy, a funny guy, all in all a really, really nice guy. (Aside to reporters: one loyal act begets another and I will not respond to your relentless pleas for dirt on the situation. To riff on Warren G, “Go aks the [other] twin, motherfuckers”.) I could say here, she’s his goddess, or his girlfriend, or his friend, or a business associate, or his reflexologist, but you’ll all think whatever you want, anyway.
-She likes to party. She likes, she likes to party. (Remember the Venga Boys? I miss them sometimes.) She always has. But not in the Boogie Nights-Eyes Wide Shut way that all you sick fucks out there associate with the phrase “party girl”. I prefer the term social butterfly. Because she is. Going out with Megan is really fun. She’s really outgoing. She’s really pretty. She likes to dance (I don’t think particularly skillfully, but we’re all entitled to our own opinions, right?). Guys like to flirt with her and buy her drinks, and, once I win them over with my sparkling personality, buy me drinks, too. I don’t think I’ve ever paid for anything on a night spent with my sissy. She’s like Nightclub Moses: seas of people waiting on line just part. For the record, I know for a fact that she’s never touched an illicit drug. Ever. She likes to drink, but has never gotten behind the wheel afterwards. She likes to dress a little on the racy side, but it’s really more of a tease than anything else. Timbaland and Nelly Furtado didn’t have her in mind when they wrote “Promiscuous Girl”.
-Yeah, we’re 2 Jews who attended Catholic school. All that meant was that we didn’t get up to receive Communion…I don’t know where people thought the shock value came from on that one. To burst your bubble eversoslightly more, I’ll tell you that Megan Levant was a well-rounded student and athlete. Ran varsity track, competed nationally in lifeguard events, always had a summer job (and a much better attendance record than me), and kept her nose clean – literally and figuratively. Graduated from high school with honors, attended UW-Madison and maintained a high GPA, and even lead our intramural flag football team to victory – I still have the T-shirt. In the little spare time she had left, she was voted “Person You’d Want to be Stranded on a Deserted Island With”, “Miss Popular” (a record held continuously for all of her 20 something years of life) and of course “Sexy Princess Megan” (I’ll never understand sorority life).
-She’s a big softie. You morons who misinterpreted the rescue dog line on her Twitter accounts should have your IQs checked immediately…because she was really talking about rescue dogs. Canines. She brakes for animals. She gives too much money to PETA and the ASPCA (when she should be giving it to her unemployed sister). She adopted a satanic pitbull-rottweiler-other large intimidating breed dog named Odin because no one else would and he was headed for the needle. She encouraged me to adopt a shelter dog, and pretends not to be jealous that he is cuter and well-behaved than her dog. She used to eat lunch with this kid from our high school who had garlicky-smelling B.O. and an Orion’s Belt of whiteheads across his forehead because no one else would sit with him. She cannot pass by a homeless person or other derelict without opening her wallet – StreetWise should put her on the Board of Directors. You know the tired argument that homeless guys spend all their alms on booze? Her reponse: “Well, I’m gonna spend it on booze, too. Might as well let them have some fun.”
I hope she isn’t pissed off when she reads this post. It isn’t fun to watch your sister dragged through the mud by a bunch of “reporters” (and I use that term loosely – whatever happened to journalistic integrity? Celebuzzcrap.com must have omitted that portion from their employee handbook…) who have never met Miss Megan and honestly think that she would call herself a “dog in need of rescue” (or not honestly, but for the sake of sensationalism, whatever). No. That’s not the case. After two-plus decades of having the world’s greatest bodyguard and protector, I just think it’s time to reimburse my sister for everything she’s done for me.
 |
| Always there for me to lean on. |
I know Megan better than anyone else. I’ve literally known her since before we were born. I can tell you, for instance, that she doesn’t like to share straws with people (in drinks, you idiots), and that when we were little she would rather starve than let any of her food touch each other on her plate. I can tell you that, although she is a far superior swimmer than I am, I did in fact beat her in a 50m freestyle race at Monarch Day Camp – she claimed it was because her goggles fell off.
Now, follow me on a journey into the soul of Megan Levant:
-She’s more loyal than a German Shepherd. Perhaps that’s why the press didn’t have more “insider” knowledge of her “mystery relationship” with the world’s most tiger-blooded individual – because she had the courtesy not to blab about it- its not her style, unlike other paramours past, who exploited their Sheen-flings for their own personal gain. As someone who grew up with a major crush on Charlie (and Emilio, too – Gordon Bombay still makes me feel all twitterpated), it sucks to watch a Post-Empire (Bret Easton Ellis on the Sheenonemenon) slandered by a bunch of girls in need of a quick buck. I saw the show in Chicago and went backstage. He’s a good guy, scratch that- a GREAT guy, a funny guy, all in all a really, really nice guy. (Aside to reporters: one loyal act begets another and I will not respond to your relentless pleas for dirt on the situation. To riff on Warren G, “Go aks the [other] twin, motherfuckers”.) I could say here, she’s his goddess, or his girlfriend, or his friend, or a business associate, or his reflexologist, but you’ll all think whatever you want, anyway.
-She likes to party. She likes, she likes to party. (Remember the Venga Boys? I miss them sometimes.) She always has. But not in the Boogie Nights-Eyes Wide Shut way that all you sick fucks out there associate with the phrase “party girl”. I prefer the term social butterfly. Because she is. Going out with Megan is really fun. She’s really outgoing. She’s really pretty. She likes to dance (I don’t think particularly skillfully, but we’re all entitled to our own opinions, right?). Guys like to flirt with her and buy her drinks, and, once I win them over with my sparkling personality, buy me drinks, too. I don’t think I’ve ever paid for anything on a night spent with my sissy. She’s like Nightclub Moses: seas of people waiting on line just part. For the record, I know for a fact that she’s never touched an illicit drug. Ever. She likes to drink, but has never gotten behind the wheel afterwards. She likes to dress a little on the racy side, but it’s really more of a tease than anything else. Timbaland and Nelly Furtado didn’t have her in mind when they wrote “Promiscuous Girl”.
 |
| Princess Megan on the right. You're just jealous that you don't get to hang out at the Mansion. |
-Yeah, we’re 2 Jews who attended Catholic school. All that meant was that we didn’t get up to receive Communion…I don’t know where people thought the shock value came from on that one. To burst your bubble eversoslightly more, I’ll tell you that Megan Levant was a well-rounded student and athlete. Ran varsity track, competed nationally in lifeguard events, always had a summer job (and a much better attendance record than me), and kept her nose clean – literally and figuratively. Graduated from high school with honors, attended UW-Madison and maintained a high GPA, and even lead our intramural flag football team to victory – I still have the T-shirt. In the little spare time she had left, she was voted “Person You’d Want to be Stranded on a Deserted Island With”, “Miss Popular” (a record held continuously for all of her 20 something years of life) and of course “Sexy Princess Megan” (I’ll never understand sorority life).
 |
| Intramural Flag Football Champ! |
-She’s a big softie. You morons who misinterpreted the rescue dog line on her Twitter accounts should have your IQs checked immediately…because she was really talking about rescue dogs. Canines. She brakes for animals. She gives too much money to PETA and the ASPCA (when she should be giving it to her unemployed sister). She adopted a satanic pitbull-rottweiler-other large intimidating breed dog named Odin because no one else would and he was headed for the needle. She encouraged me to adopt a shelter dog, and pretends not to be jealous that he is cuter and well-behaved than her dog. She used to eat lunch with this kid from our high school who had garlicky-smelling B.O. and an Orion’s Belt of whiteheads across his forehead because no one else would sit with him. She cannot pass by a homeless person or other derelict without opening her wallet – StreetWise should put her on the Board of Directors. You know the tired argument that homeless guys spend all their alms on booze? Her reponse: “Well, I’m gonna spend it on booze, too. Might as well let them have some fun.”
 |
| Megan and I with the loves of our lives. |
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Party Down
We've all either attended or hosted our share of less-than-stellar soirees, and they've all sucked in their own unique and special ways. The trick is knowing your guests (read: inviting your new boyfriend and his buddies over to play Rummikub and drink wine coolers with your grandma's knitting circle will not make for a Page-Six-worthy event; it will make him dump you, publicly, and mock you relentlessly in a Facebook note). Here, some tips on convincing people that you are more popular, cooler, and better-liked than you really are (at least when it comes to throwing a party).
1. Calling it a "get-together" eases the embarrassment of having no one show up except your best friend and 16 year old brother with 3 members of his posse, who are in fact only there because their fake IDs didn't work at Irish Eyes earlier.
2. Serving too much complicated food will give your guests the impression that you thought a lot more of them would be coming. Nothing screams "obscure loser who put way too much time and effort into a sparsely attended event" than a tableful of congealing artichoke dip and limp endive cups with crab salad (does anyone remember Martha Plimpton's failed NYE bash in 200 Cigarettes, or am I the only person who ever saw that movie?). If you must serve food at all, stick to cheap, easy staples like chips & salsa; perhaps, if you're feeling very generous, some bagel dogs. You won't feel as guilty when you end up throwing it all away at the end of the night.
3. Always provide your guests with a nice, quiet, secluded place, outfitted with plenty of flat, even surfaces, to pack their noses with cocaine. They'll appreciate your hospitality even more.
4. Dress appropriately, as in, the same as your guests. It is uncool to wear a giant party dress and get your hair done unless the party theme is "80s Prom" or something lame like that.
5. Speaking of getting your hair done, perhaps invest in a bikini wax. You'll never have this many guys in close proximity to your bed ever again, so be prepared.
6. On the subject of theme parties, anything too obscure or highbrow will deter less intelligent (and therefore better looking and more popular) guests from attending. Be seasonally appropriate (an "Anything But Clothes" party in February will not inspire guests to get decked out; stick to elementary (read: recycled from college frat parties) themes. Chances are that not too many people have an appropriate costume for an "Industrial Revolution" party laying around.
7. Quarters is a fun party game that gets people drunk quickly. Parcheesi is not.
8. Demanding money from your guests will quickly alienate them and give you the appearance of a Scrooge-like miser. Donation bowls are less invasive.
9. If your apartment has a super-cool chalkboard wall in the kitchen, let your guests embrace their creative sides by providing chalk. Remember to erase the 5,000 drawings of stick figures fornicating before your landlord/parents drop in the following week.
10. Try to relax without getting sloppy, falling down drunk and forcing your guests to hold your hair back while you spew jungle juice into your kitchen sink. Xanax is much more effective.
11. Do your best to maintain a fairly even guy:girl ratio.
12. Don't invite ugly people. Ew.
13. Invite me. I'm suuuuper fun.
1. Calling it a "get-together" eases the embarrassment of having no one show up except your best friend and 16 year old brother with 3 members of his posse, who are in fact only there because their fake IDs didn't work at Irish Eyes earlier.
2. Serving too much complicated food will give your guests the impression that you thought a lot more of them would be coming. Nothing screams "obscure loser who put way too much time and effort into a sparsely attended event" than a tableful of congealing artichoke dip and limp endive cups with crab salad (does anyone remember Martha Plimpton's failed NYE bash in 200 Cigarettes, or am I the only person who ever saw that movie?). If you must serve food at all, stick to cheap, easy staples like chips & salsa; perhaps, if you're feeling very generous, some bagel dogs. You won't feel as guilty when you end up throwing it all away at the end of the night.
3. Always provide your guests with a nice, quiet, secluded place, outfitted with plenty of flat, even surfaces, to pack their noses with cocaine. They'll appreciate your hospitality even more.
4. Dress appropriately, as in, the same as your guests. It is uncool to wear a giant party dress and get your hair done unless the party theme is "80s Prom" or something lame like that.
5. Speaking of getting your hair done, perhaps invest in a bikini wax. You'll never have this many guys in close proximity to your bed ever again, so be prepared.
6. On the subject of theme parties, anything too obscure or highbrow will deter less intelligent (and therefore better looking and more popular) guests from attending. Be seasonally appropriate (an "Anything But Clothes" party in February will not inspire guests to get decked out; stick to elementary (read: recycled from college frat parties) themes. Chances are that not too many people have an appropriate costume for an "Industrial Revolution" party laying around.
7. Quarters is a fun party game that gets people drunk quickly. Parcheesi is not.
8. Demanding money from your guests will quickly alienate them and give you the appearance of a Scrooge-like miser. Donation bowls are less invasive.
9. If your apartment has a super-cool chalkboard wall in the kitchen, let your guests embrace their creative sides by providing chalk. Remember to erase the 5,000 drawings of stick figures fornicating before your landlord/parents drop in the following week.
10. Try to relax without getting sloppy, falling down drunk and forcing your guests to hold your hair back while you spew jungle juice into your kitchen sink. Xanax is much more effective.
11. Do your best to maintain a fairly even guy:girl ratio.
12. Don't invite ugly people. Ew.
13. Invite me. I'm suuuuper fun.
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