I Love Love Love Doodlers

From Mieko, who thinks it's hot when a guy puts pen to paper and draws something cute:

I believe there's a song that goes: "When a man loves a woman/ He shares his amazing doodling skills/ Doodles whatever she wants if she thinks that's the way it ought to be." Or something like that, maybe I misheard it. 

I have a long history digging on men once I see their artistic abilities that it’s not even a flippin’ opinion, okay? It's basically fact at this point. Don’t worry if you’re not an artist by any stretch, even in the worst-case scenario, all doodling is still somehow cute (e.g., the plethora of penis drawings in Superbad, anyone?) 

Simon, the consummate doodler

And if you're an artist, don’t worry if your overall situation is quite unattractive, your drawings will save you. While looking at a $450 all-included room for rent in Bed-Stuy (Brooklyn), I encountered the most tragic looking basement apartment I've ever seen. First, it was not converted in any way; it was literally a boiler and pipes and storage boxes with some rooms down a hallway. Secondly, there were no windows. Lastly, thrown atop the toilet tank in a filthy bathroom lay a dilapidated copy of "The Road," almost like it was planted there as a prop to emphasize the bleakness of this apartment’s inner life. 

However I considered taking this apartment because one of the rooms was occupied by a painter. Amidst the rubble of liquor bottles and food containers on his floor were dozens of canvases, all brightly, lushly painted with portraits of adorable white fluffy bunnies in button-downs. I was momentarily in love. 

If you are a guy and you doodle now and then, all I’m saying is that it really could not hurt you to translate that onto a little note or card for your ladyfriends. You will win major brownie points. Just don't start with a penis in a cowboy hat or anything though.

I can see how doodlers can make your heart swoon but man, never dump a doodler! They will channel their heartbreak in doodle-form, then post it on your Facebook page (and tag you in it!) for all the world to see. Nothing like seeing a notification alert that you've been tagged in a picture of a sobbing, stabbed kitty cat to make you re-think diddling a doodler.

Beware of the doodler, my friends. Beware.

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Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Take Bar Trivia Too Seriously

Bar trivia is an awesome idea. What better way to spend an evening than drinking beer and answering ridiculous questions about obscure topics no one should really know about? Personally, nothing makes me feel more manly than proving I know that the fifth stage of the modern pentathlon is pistol shooting.

There is one key problem with bar trivia, however. Just like the guy on every slow pitch softball team that spends $800 on a bat and keeps track of slugging percentage, there is always one person who takes bar trivia too seriously.

That person is me.

It’s not like I mean to get so overly involved. I’d love to sit back and act like I don’t care that our team thinks Lionel Richie wrote “Maneater” when I know that Hall and Oates are responsible for that musical gem.  

I know my Lionel oeuvre and "Maneater" is NOT from his lovely permed brain!

But inevitably I find myself dissecting every question and taking it hard when my CLEARLY superior knowledge of mid-'80s basketball trivia is called into question. Perhaps the competitive family "Jeopardy!" nights created some bad habits I never quite overcame?

My issues aren’t limited to what happens on my team, either. I’ve been known to take a casual trip to the “bathroom” just to make sure no one is cheating on their smartphones. Not to mention the rage that builds up in my system when someone gets a tiebreaker question correct that no one would know without cheating. Chances are if someone is able to say exactly how many centimeters tall Mount Washington is, they are probably consulting their pocket version of Wikipedia.

I’ll have to work on my bar trivia approach and crank the intensity down a notch or three. It might take time. Until then, my tendency to ruin bar trivia may make me a bad boyfriend.

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Real Talk: Bad Boys Over 30 Must Die

You meet him, pounding whiskey gingers at the bar with “his boys.” You know the type; the kind that shows up to dive bars at 1:15am. He has a motorcycle. He thinks Facebook chat is a legitimate way to hit you up. He doesn’t offer to buy you a drink but he leans up next to you, his shirt barely buttoned. His tan looks sorta fake and his teeth are a bit too white, but he’s smooth. He’s handsome. And you’re down to kick it even though there's a 99.9% chance he's a douchebag.

He tells you he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. He’s been hurt before, a long time ago. He doesn’t take girls out on dates...anymore. And for a moment, you think, “I accept the challenge to transform him from mediocre bad boy to above-average boyfriend! Girls everywhere will talk about me for years to come. I'll be known as the Bad Boy Slayer and they'll made a limited-edition, high ABV-content beer to commemorate the achievement.”


And then two days later you shake out of it and realize that your life is NOT a Reese Witherspoon rom-com. This guy isn’t intriguing; he’s just an asshole.

There should be a rule that once you hit 27, games are off the table. Let’s accept the fact that we have lives. Look, I work 40 hours a week, PLUS I freelance AND I blog. Add into the equation that I enjoy being with my friends, working out during the week, cooking myself food, doing laundry, and I really love taking baths. I don’t have time to sit around and wait for him to ask me to “grab drinks” aka keep me up til 2am on a work night for, let’s be honest, nothing to write home about.

This isn’t pathetic Julia from sophomore year in high school, eating Nutter Butters on a Friday night and watching "Futurama" hoping some senior calls my parent's landline. This is big, city girl Julia. The Julia that can stumble through Old City cobblestone after three Kettle One on the rocks in 4 inch heels like it ain’t no thing. So don’t think I’ve got the time to wait around for him to drunk text me “Sup?” last minute as hell on a Thursday night.

So let’s lose the schtick and be blunt, gentleman. Buy me a glass of Riesling and let’s get this show on the goddamn road.

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Bonerkiller: DJs

From Jill, who does the smirk 'n' jerk to grown men living the DJ lifestyle:

I have known many wonderful and lovely deejays but dating a DJ is the absolute worst. 

It’s all, “Let’s go to this club on a MONDAY night, even though you work 11 hours a day and you stayed up late to watch/overanalyze "Mad Men” and did I mention it’s MONDAY. 

"Also, let’s stay until closing so I can befriend this DJ. Now we have to come support him every Monday night forever because we’re friends! By the way, we have to go to a different club every night of the week because I got a guest DJ spot here and here and here and here. Finally, hooray! Success! Consistent DJ-ing gigs that generate income, but I am torn up about it because I have to play top 40 for the masses. Oh, the humanity!” 

DJ Cat Skratch Fever in the house  

Next thing you know, your Facebook feed is just one long list of event invitations so overwhelming you didn’t even notice your best friend got engaged and your brother had a baby. His happy news was swallowed by tongue-in-cheek ‘80s album covers repurposed as party fliers, links to SoundCloud mashups and so, so, so, much dubstep. 

Enjoying a quiet dinner at home while listening to your iTunes? I hope you don’t like any of those songs because he changes the song every other second to play you “something new that you will love” that you will hate. Did you ask him to find that song that you liked? Well, he knows that song but NEVER put it on your computer. Not to worry, though, he did put 1500 other songs on there. All dubstep.

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I Love Love Love When He's Not Creepy About Being Into Pop Culture Bullshit

From Dana, who'd prefer if he'd put the issue of Us Weekly down:

It’s no secret I’m a pop culture junkie. So when a guy can make a sly pop culture reference, I start rubbernecking. Do you casually ask people named Ben, Jack or Sawyer how they got off the island? Do you see an older woman out with her son and call her as Mrs. Bates? Do you dig discussions about Rubber Man, Bloody Face, and Jessica Lange? If so, I volunteer as tribute! 

But please don’t call yourself Sean Lowe when the bar is full of ladies. Sorry, but I don't want my guy to know any contestants of "The Bachelor" by name. I just don't. I expend enough brain cells on this crappy rose-giving franchise, he doesn't need to do it too. 

It's not hot when he knows who these people are!

And definitely don’t refer to yourself as Harry Styles because that makes my smile only go in One Direction: south to Frowntown. It confuses me when he knows who got kicked off "Dancing with the Stars" this week or constantly quotes "Teen Mom" (Farrah’s sex tape? Damn girl.) Nothing makes me awkwardly teeter away in my six-inch wedges faster than a guy who just knows too much about trashy tabloid pop culture shit. I know a ton about trashy tabloid pop culture shit; I have it covered for the both of us, I swear! 

But if you saw Clinton on Colbert last week or downloaded the latest TED talk on your iPhone, hit me up. I love coconut rum shots with a diet chaser, men taller than six feet tall and Grisham’s early novels. Until then please excuse me, I think I just heard someone in the corner mention Leo as Gatsby.

Not to be a dissenter, but I like it when my man can go toe-to-toe with me about the shit we see on TMZ. But I can see if he started spouting off with a ton of opinions about "Kourtney and Kim Take Miami," I'd be like, "Step away from the E! network, guy. That's my area of expertise. No need to chime in about Lord Disick's eyepatch."

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Quick Rant: Oh Jeez, Where'd He Go?

From Jackie, who wants to kick his disappearing act in the scrotum:

Like so many single, non-desperate women these days, I have ventured into the often scary world that is online dating. While there are many advantages to finding your soul mate without any branch of the government doing any extensive background checks, often times we do, in fact, stumble across those on the FBI's Most Wanted lists. 

Now, we all know those annoyingly cute, over the top lovey-dovey couples who have miraculously found each other thanks to the privilege of Neil Clark Warren of eHarmony continuously draining our bank accounts. To yours truly, this has proven costly on many levels. Since I'm both cynical and cheap, er frugal, I have resorted to experimenting on a few of the ever-present free dating sites. I can only say that I definitely have gotten my money's worth. 

I'm only speaking for the ladies here, but I've noticed a disturbing trend: Men disappear! As in completely vanish. For weeks, days or even minutes, the two of you are having stimulating correspondence about the always fascinating jet stream and barometric pressure when...nothing. 

The emails cease with no explanations or teary goodbyes full of made-up bullshit. Am I not worthy of at least some fictitious story involving aliens or his joining the Witness Protection Program? I don't know about the rest of you, but I prefer to know why I'm being rejected. It's not like I have no experience in that area! 

I do realize that many people on these sites are having simultaneous conversations with two, three or 48 other members. Heck, even I have, on rare occasions, had more than one message in my inbox. However, if you guys are having second or eighth thoughts about us, then tell us! Most of us are not crazed psycho bitches looking to forever stalk you.

But nothing is more frustrating than being ignored or stood up. And being stood up electronically is it's own annoying version of hell. 

We can only conclude that he was intimidated by the strong, smart, sexy women we are and it rendered him incapable of corresponding further. In actuality, we know that we've been replaced by the perfect woman with the irresistible combination of having both a 38EEE chest and a near-encyclopedic knowledge of astrophysics. 

Alas, the eternal optimist, buried way, way, way deep inside me is hopeful that somewhere out there is that one guy who will continue to respond to my emails and will stick around for other exciting topics beyond the rise of the stock market or fall of the unemployment numbers. Or is it the other way around? 

Regardless, I have one question: "Where the hell is he?"

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Bonerkiller: His Old, Beat Up, Plastic-y Jesus Sandals

From Sabrina in DC, who reallllly doesn't like his shitty sandals:

I was walking to meet him on our second date and giving myself a pat on the back because he’s cuter than I remembered; short hair, bedroom eyes, strong chin sitting over broad shoulders, with toned arms poking out of the Polo that’s tucked into adorably and equally preppy khakis. My first date assessment wasn’t blinded by the shots of tequila I had “for my nerrrrves darling” or the dim lighting of the restaurant. This guy was full-on attractive. 

We made small talk heading down to the Cherry Blossoms, when I got jostled by the crowd. I apologized and glanced down to make sure I hadn’t stomped on his foot and WAIT. Hold. The. Phone. Pause. The. Music. Slam. The. Brakes. 

What are those god awful, super old, raggedy plastic Jesus sandals doing on his feet? 

Did I miss something? Was he mugged on his way here and the robber stole his Topsiders and left him with these molded shards of terribleness? Is he just amazingly altruistic, exchanging his shoes with one of the homeless guys by the Washington Monument? I was trying not to look down at them, but the sheer number of people and pets was working against me and ohgodIjustlookedthey’restillthere. 

Just like that, my leading man wasn’t Ryan Gosling (preferably from Ides of March, this is DC after all), he’s Danny Devito in all his disheveled glory. 

Look. I understand frugal. I understand comfort. I understand letting your toes enjoy the first truly nice weekend of Spring. And ok, he’s got a lot of other things going for him (although while I know those attrocities are there I can’t think of a single one) so it’s not a dealbreaker. I just hope he understands that these suckers are going to end up chopped into dozens of sad plastic pieces, slowly sinking to the bottom of the Potomac.

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I Love Love Love Enthusiastic Sports Fans

From Jill, who appreciates a sports enthusiast because she needs to make new memories, people: 

I don’t care about sports but I love when the guys that I date do. Sports = guaranteed free time away from my boo. Hockey and baseball can be tricky because there seems to be a game on like every day. Still, I’d rather he watch the games with his friends, so he's not all up in my business.  

Football is the best because it’s a whole day of not hanging out with each other after brunch. I used to date this guy who always watched the Steelers game with his fellow Pittsburghians every Sunday. It was perfect. I could do whatever I wanted with my friends and then meet up with him later for smooches.  

Do your thang and let's meet up when you're done!

I am aware that relationships are not prisons and regardless of my boyfriend’s sports preferences I am allowed to do whatever I want when I want but it’s a lot easier to gracefully get some alone time when a guy has his own interests or hobbies. A boyfriend who enjoys an activity that I don’t allows us to be separate without anyone getting their feelings hurt or insecurities stoked by a, “Meh, I’d rather not.”  

In college, I had an (admittedly) clingy boyfriend who took three of the same classes as me and we drove to and from school together every day. He would pout when I didn’t want to come inside and watch "The Simpsons" together.  

I finally broke down and yelled, “I need to make new memories!” Plus, if each one of you has your own interests, you can have interesting conversations and learn new things. For example, with the Pittsburgh ex, I learned a lot about the Steelers and football and he learned a lot about “America’s Next Top Model” and Tyra Banks. Disparate interests keep the love alive.

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