Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Not Offer You Some Of This Delicious Snack

Lay off me, I'm STAAAARVING!

OH MY GOD, THESE CASHEWS WERE THE BEST GAS STATION PURCHASE EVER.

Normally, I'm like, "Damn, should I get cashews? Nah, not this time. They're too pricey." Seriously, it's like $2+ for a relatively small bag of cashews. Nuts are expensive. Usually, the highest level of snack I'll purchase is the large bag of Combos.

So to celebrate treating myself to this serious roadtrip snack splurge, I quickly wolf down the entire bag.

In front of you.

Ahhh...shit.

I'm sorry, but if we ever dated, I'd probably forget to share my delicious snack with you. Sadly, I wish this applied to just cashews, but that's not the case. You can add movie popcorn and the side of fries at dinner to this list as well. It's not that I don't WANT to share, it's that I forget. I slip into the "food zone" and start snacking away. Next thing I know, there's an empty bag that formerly held cashews in front of me and you in the passenger seat with that look on your face.

I feel like I'm not alone on this; I think it's a dude thing. I've never sat down with one of my guy friends at lunch and offered him some of my fries or said, "Hey, you gotta try a bite of this sandwich." It's just not what we do. My female friends and co-workers don't even blink at splitting lunch or sharing a snack. Rather than shoulder the blame for this, I'll go ahead and burden the entire male gender instead.

So, while I can promise you that I will try to remember to share, your best bet is to get your own bag of cashews. And that makes me a bad boyfriend.

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Not Offer You Some Of This Delicious Snack

5 Comments

I Love Love Love That We Don't Listen To The The Exact Same Music

Replace the maps with iPhones. That's more like it.

My girlfriend and I just completed our first ever roadtrip together. We've done some small day trips before, but this was a straight-up full-day-of-driving-pack-some-sandwiches-in-the-cooler ROAD TRIP. We were crossin' state lines, y'all.

In order to circumvent some of my previously stated car stereo control issues, we agreed to switch off albums for the entirety of the 25+ hours of driving.

Let's just say I learned a lot. For instance, I learned that there's a TON more Oasis songs than the ones I heard on the radio back when I was a teenager. Also, for every obscure American band that I've never heard of, there's an equally obscure British band that I've DEFINITELY never heard of. What can I say? She likes Britpop.

That, of course, is exactly what made it awesome. Over the course of the whole trip, I think she only played two or three albums I'd previously heard. Our musical interests, while similar, overlap ever so perfectly in a way that I get to listen to a lot of new music but don't necessarily have to worry about her non-ironically breaking out a Nickelback record or anything.

In the past, I've dated girls where the pendulum swung way too far in either direction. In one relationship, the act of sharing a new musical discovery was totally lost because she'd usually already heard the band before; my mixtapes were rendered completely useless. Another past fling was totally the "I love everything but rap and country" type, which meant that she just listened to whatever came on the radio at any given moment. Girls like her make up for 97% of all Black Eyed Peas album sales.

I'm into the give and the take. Our musical Venn diagram leaves plenty of room for discovery and that's the best. Discovering somebody's favorite albums and sharing your own is all part of the fun.

So, tell me again: which one is Liam and which one is Noel?

I Love Love Love That We Don't Listen To The The Exact Same Music

5 Comments

Quick Rant: Men's Summertime Fashion

I've decided not to go on any dates this summer. Why, you ask? Here you go: I don't know how to go on a date without looking like a complete idiot. When the hot humid months of summer arrive, I can't leave the house in the daytime without looking like a total fashion disaster.

In the winter months, I'm golden. I can whip together a classy jeans/jacket/scarf combo that will leave you thinking I fell right out of a photo spread on The Sartorialist. But once the weather forecast starts heading into the 80s, I'm done for.

I realize the catalogs you get in the mail show dudes looking oh-so-comfortable and classy wearing boat shoes and lounging on the decks of yachts, but those are male models. For the rest of us normal-looking dudes, we just look ridiculous.

You see, in the summer I have only four options:

• Sacrifice comfort for fashion and wear jeans and my normal clothes, which is doable during an evening date. However, if the sun is still out, you're going to be looking at one hot sweaty mess of a date. Gross. Nobody wants a sweaty date.
  
  
• Go for comfort and wear shorts and a t-shirt, which inevitably makes me look like a bearded 15-year-old skater kid version of myself.
  
  
• Try to class it up and wear shorts and a button-up or a polo, which makes me look like some weird fast-forward awkward dad version of myself.
  
  
• Go for total comfort and wear no pants at all. This is just...awkward.

As you can see, none of these options are appealing.

Then, of course, there's the issue of shorts. I never know what's "cool." Do I go above the knee or below the knee? Cargo or plain? Khaki or grey? IT'S ALL SO OVERWHELMING. Don't even get me started on socks.

So, basically, I'm going into hiding. If you need me, I'll be enjoying the cool hum of my apartment's air conditioner and wearing whatever I want. I'll see you when the leaves start changing color; I'll be the one wearing pants.

Quick Rant: Men's Summertime Fashion

21 Comments

Real Talk: Don't Let Foursquare One-Up Your Date

Unless you've been living under a rock with no Internet connection, the latest craze is the geo-location site, Foursquare. It's one part social media time-suck, one part nightlife guide, one part game, and eight parts material for anyone interested in real-life stalking you.

Foursquare rewards you for "checking in" to places you go on a daily basis. The coffee shop around the corner, the bar where you guzzle down PBRs every Friday night; it's all fair game. Your check-in earns you points, badges, and even a coveted mayorship if you check in more than anyone else. What does this mean in real life? Absolutely jack shit, which is why I have a sneaking suspicion you might see Foursquare joining the ranks of Friendster and MySpace in a few years.

In the meantime, everyone with an iPhone is playing and well, it's getting a little out of hand. It's not appropriate yet for you to shout "HEY! I'M THE MAYOR HERE!" as you saunter into your local taco joint. Hopefully it stays that way.

Since we're here to talk about dating, I thought I'd set some ground rules about Foursquare and dating. I haven't seen anyone talk about the two in conjunction, so I thought a few guidelines might help.

1. Never talk about Foursquare on the first date unless she is an uber-nerd. Even in this post, it took me a solid two paragraphs to give you the basics of Foursquare. I've tried this before and it always starts with this eyes-glazing-over thing and then she makes this face as if you're trying to explain the plot of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. It never ends well. No matter how cool you think Foursquare is, there's no way to explain it in which you don't look like a total dork at the end. ABORT MISSION.
   
   
2. Don't let her see you check in. It's just rude. Believe me, as a former Foursquare addict, the first urge you get is to check in the moment you walk in the door or sit down. Wait for her to go to the bathroom or check in as you are walking up. Or don't do it at all. It totally leaves a bad impression. Your date is going to read you playing on your iPhone as total disinterest in the date, even though technically you're announcing it to the world. Which leads us to...
   
   
3. Be careful what you announce on Foursquare. Is this a first date? Were your friends giving you shit about asking this girl out? Think twice about telling the world where your date is taking place to eliminate the chance that one or two of your friends are nearby and try to crash it. Believe me, it happens.
   
4. Don't ever lie about where you are. Ever. You shouldn't be doing this anyway, but if you're dumb enough to try to date two girls at the same time, Foursquare is TOTALLY NOT FOR YOU. Alternatively, if you're trying to keep a new relationship on the D/L, and you're checking in together all over town, people are going to put two and two together. Criminals, secret keepers, and serial daters should probably just steer clear of this social media trend.
   
   
5. If it turns out she IS on Foursquare, give it some time before you follow her. So you had a successful first date AND she's on Foursquare? Awesome! Just give it a little time before you add her as a friend. Or better yet, let her do it. Becoming friends on Foursquare is sorta like saying, "Hey, I'm cool with you knowing roughly where I am most of the time" and frankly, most girls aren't down with that if they've just met you. So take it easy, and if she's cool with you, you'll get the friend request. Simmer down!
   
   
6. No Foursquare random run-ins. It doesn't matter if you're right across the street from where she just checked in, if you aren't SUPER TIGHT FRIENDS, you can't show up there and "bump into her." This is Hannibal Lecter-level creepiness and her stalker radar will be on full blast. Even though, in your head, this is a totally reasonable thing because bumping into friends while you're out and about is the main reason for Foursquare, none of this logic matters at all. You will be forever slightly creepy in her mind.

Foursquare users, date and check in with abandon. By following these simple rules, hopefully you can become the mayor of your very own hot date.

Real Talk: Don't Let Foursquare One-Up Your Date

7 Comments

I Feel I Failed To Impress You With My CD Collection

I really have to do something about this CD shelf.

Every time I bring a date back to my place, we get to that awkward tour of my room, where inevitably her eyes are drawn to this ridiculous IKEA monstrosity that holds every single CD I've ever purchased since 1990. It's like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but instead of emitting high-pitched shrieks to catapult species to the next evolutionary stage, it houses dustbin classics of yore.

Now, look; maybe you've been a super cool kid since 1990, but I can tell you with complete confidence that I was not. And now that you're in my room, I have the CDs to prove it.

Of course, your eyes breeze right past the Hot Chip and Catherine Wheel CDs and my extensive Ryan Adams and Bjork collections. Nope, instead you zero right in on the most embarrassing stuff.

"Wow! You sure do have a lot of Barenaked Ladies albums."

I'm usually pretty good about keeping things organized and orderly in my life. I have no problem throwing away all kinds of old stuff, but the idea of throwing away or selling an old CD just seems to be sacrilege. Sure, I haven't listened to the sweet dulcet tones of "If I Had A Million Dollars" in about ten years. But, that's beside the point! What if I randomly decide I need to hear that song?! There was a time in my life where I wore khaki cargo shorts and had blonde highlights and thought that song was amazing. I feel that in throwing away the CD, I'd be throwing away a little part of my musical biography, as awkward of a chapter as it may have been.

So yeah, you're basically face-to-face with my dark, lame musical past.

I suppose in the meantime, I could pretend my entire CD wall is an art project. I could title it, "Ode To A Dying Musical Format" and then maybe I'd impress you.

In the meantime, though, my CD collection isn't quite doing the trick.

I Feel I Failed To Impress You With My CD Collection

7 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Move To Portland After We Break Up

This has happened to me more times than I'd care to admit: Shortly after breaking up, my exes tend to move to Portland, OR aka the farthest possible corner of the United States (excluding remote Alaska or Hawaii). C'mon, was I seriously THAT bad?

So I've decided to turn the tables. After we break up, I'm going to move to Portland.

Yep, that's right. A few weeks after our teary-eyed breakup, I'll be packing my bags, renting a truck, and moving out to Portland to become a copywriter or a graphic designer. Or maybe a green architect. I'll probably end up waiting tables for six months to a year, but whatever.

And you're going to HATE it. I'll make sure of it.

I'll kick things off by posting Facebook photos of my EPIC cross-country roadtrip. They'll be of me in front of the Grand Canyon, standing under the Las Vegas sign, eating at In 'n' Out Burger. While you're sitting in your boring apartment working your boring dayjob, I'll be twisting the knife in by having mind-blowingly fun roadtrip adventures.

Once I arrive in Portland to my modest apartment that I'll share with "some guys I knew back in college," I'll proceed to send you e-mails documenting the following highlights:

- I'll tell you about the amazing locally-grown organic free range coffee shop I found right around the corner from my new place. In your imagination, the lattes there will be 1,000 times better than any latte you've ever tasted.

- I'll tell you about all the great indie record stores that I've discovered, where I just so happened to find an original pressing of your favorite record. Not to mention, I totally bumped into the banjo player from Fleet Foxes there too! Great dude; we totally hit it off.

- Then I'll post photos from a really amazing kayaking trip I took with some granola-loving backpacking kids I met at work. Every single picture will look like it came from a coffee table book titled, "The Most Beautiful Natural Setting You've Ever Seen."

Lastly, I'll tell you about how I started playing cello in an instrumental space-rock project. We started playing shows at the Food Not Bombs collective house and the dude I met from Fleet Foxes totally joined the band too! Now, we're opening for Fleet Foxes on a few West Coast dates.

Basically, with each e-mail, I'll make you despise me more for all the fun I'm having while you're trapped in your boring, uneventful East Coast life. By the time you move on, find someone new, dump him and move out to Portland yourself, I'll be long gone. You see, there will be a new hipster mecca by then. And, it's so obscure you probably haven't even heard of it yet.

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Move To Portland After We Break Up

12 Comments

Quick Rant: Yo, Stop Hating Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is rapidly approaching. While I think most of us can agree that we cringe slightly upon seeing our madly-in-love friends go crazy for this holiday, it pales in comparison to what I consider to be a far worse problem: Valentine's Day haters.

I don't mean to put this all on the female population, but let's be honest here: I don't hear too many guys talking about "gouging their eyes out" on this holiday or trying to stay home from work because they can't handle seeing all the flowers and balloons and god-knows-what-else getting delivered. I don't know if it's years of built-up single rage or if it was ruined forever by that first high-school boyfriend, but we all gotta CHILL OUT on that shit!

Every year, I hear the same tired thing from every girl I talk to who hates Valentine's Day: "I think it's bullshit that we pick one day a year to celebrate love. I want a guy who will bring me flowers and take me out to a fancy dinner on a random Wednesday, not some cheesy corporate holiday."

I get what you're saying here, but here's the thing: if you're dating a great dude, he will buy you flowers and take you out to a nice dinner on that random Wednesday AND on Valentine's Day. If your boyfriend is dialing it in 364 days a year and only treating you like a lady on Valentine's Day, the problem ISN'T Valentine's Day... it's your idiot BOYFRIEND.

As single people, I think we just need to embrace Valentine's Day for what it is. It's a sappy holiday. If you're single, that's cool! Call up some friends and watch a John Cusack movie. If you're in Philly, swing by our V-Day Dance Party and shake a tail feather. It doesn't have to be a pity party - just have fun! There's nothing more unattractive than someone seething with hatred at a holiday that celebrates all that mushy love stuff that ultimately everyone deep down is looking for.

So have a little heart this Valentine's Day. Keep the hate to a minimum and just enjoy it for what it is. In a short 24 hours, it will be Presidents Day, and who could possibly hate that?!

Quick Rant: Yo, Stop Hating Valentine's Day

5 Comments

Surprisingly Not A Bonerkiller: Your Weird Sleeping Habits

It’s that important dating milestone. We’ve gone on a few dates and we’re totally hitting it off and things are progressively inching ever closer to that “Do you want to sleep over?” moment. Well, it's finally happening and I’m following you up the stairs to your bedroom.

Everything is going perfectly, but it’s not until we’re about to fall asleep that things get weird. When you rolled over to mess with something on your nightstand, I assumed you were putting on some nice quiet falling-asleep music or setting your alarm for the morning. Suddenly, the sounds of LOUD CRICKETS fill the room.

At first, I’m confused as hell. “Is that a white noise machine?” I ask, partially hoping that this is all just some mistake that’s been made. Maybe you're a huge nature fan and this is your ringtone? So, I’m laying there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the great outdoors: crickets chirping, snapping twigs, perhaps a wolf howl off in the distance. I’m really not sure I can fall asleep to this.

But then, you snuggled up next to me. My initial fears subsided and I started to doze off. But instead of a normal doze-off, suddenly I’m reliving my boy scout years of sleeping under the stars during summer camp adventures, except THIS TIME there’s a hot girl on my arm. That certainly never happened at summer camp! AWESOME!

Sleeping in your bed catapults to a whole new level because it’s like we’ve been transported to the middle of Yellowstone National Park without the inconvenience of mosquitoes, rain, or grizzly bear attacks. Hell, we didn't even need to pack travel-sized bottles of shampoo! Admittedly, what I thought was a total bonerkiller on your part turned out to be pretty awesome.

So, ladies, bring on your weird sleeping habits. Bring on your white noise machines. It turns out I’m cool with it. Who knew?

Surprisingly Not A Bonerkiller: Your Weird Sleeping Habits

1 comments

Quick Rant: You're Tweeting Too Hard

I know it's hard to keep up: one minute we're all updating our MySpace profiles and saying, "thanks for the add!" And then next thing you know, everyone's packed up and moved to greener, less glittery .giffed pastures. The newest bandwagon social media site, of course, is Twitter. It's not exactly new, but it's reached that weird mainstream point where if the O.C. was still on (R.I.P.), Seth Cohen would have definitely namedropped it ad nauseum already.

So you'd think the 140-character limit would naturally impose some limitations in ways you could annoy people, but Twitter seems to be doing quite well in that regard. So, let's lay down some ground rules:

1. If you're replying to someone's tweet, keep the back-and-forth conversation to maybe two or three tweets tops, any more and you're just texting, EXCEPT WE ALL HAVE TO READ EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR TEXTS. Take it offline, Champ.

2. Stop auto-tweeting. The occasional "Hey, I posted a new blog" is a good reminder, but if your twitter goes off every single time you post another Formspring question on your tumblr page or every time you check into your own house on Foursquare, it's gonna get old real quick.

3. Stop complaining. If every third tweet is about how you had to stay late at work or your coffee wasn't made "just right," just know that all your followers are moments away from making their own complaint about making the decision to follow you.

4. If you're stuck in a really boring situation and the only solution is that you have to livetweet your way through it, it's not an ideal situation for your followers, but I understand. I've been there. Just make sure that every single thing you tweet is fucking hilarious or you're doing it wrong. If you can't deliver on that promise, you're not allowed to livetweet anything.

5. Whoa whoa whoa. Careful with that re-tweet button. I realize that YOU may find all the people you follow extremely interesting, but remember that's why you're the one following them. I'm not. I don't give a shit. Use discretion.

6. Right before you press send on that tweet, just remember that even though it seems like the dashboard is your little private universe, it's not. We're all reading your tweets and judging you for them. We can see your flirtatious tweets to that boy we all know you have a crush on and your boss can see that tweet you just wrote about needing tips on updating your resume. Always think before you tweet, "Is this something I'm comfortable standing up at my cubicle and shouting to everyone in earshot?" If so, tweet away!

Hopefully this makes our twitter lives all a little easier, so I don't have to secretly unfollow you and hope you never notice. With that said, are you following Shmitten Kitten? 'Cause you should.

Quick Rant: You're Tweeting Too Hard

4 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Cry At Movies

Here's another thing about me that a lot of girls say they want in a boyfriend, but haven't really thought through: I cry at movies. Often.

I know you complain about how you want a guy who's unafraid of showing his emotional side, but until you hear my soft whimpering next to you on the couch when we get to the end of whatever romantic comedy we've decided to watch, you might want to be careful what you ask for.

The weird thing is that it's getting worse with age. I've always been a little teary-eyed at movies, but lately, the dumbest, weirdest shit will bring on the waterworks. Hell, a month ago I cried at a Walmart commercial. I'm totally not an over-emotional person and I don't cry at regular everyday life shit, but for some reason, if it's on the TV, it's fair game.

The absolute worst are the movies involving submarines. There's always that one scene in the movie where the water is filling up in the room and they're all trying to get out before the door shuts. Inevitably, there's always one guy who gets left behind in the room and he can't escape. Then you have the dude on the other side of the door shouting things like, "I'm so sorry!" as the room fills up with water. Hollywood has been writing variations of this scene for 50 years now and it turns me into an emotional mess every time.

In your imagination, maybe the crying you're picturing is a single tear dripping down my cheek wiped away tenderly. But what do you do when there's like 50 tears and then there's Kleenex involved? And if we're talking about the series finale of Six Feet Under, we're talking BOXES of Kleenex.

And then, of course, there will come a time when I'm crying at a movie and YOU'RE not. This has already happened more times than I'd like to admit in past relationships and it ranks pretty high on the humiliation scale.

So if you're tough as nails, or can't handle me sobbing my way through another John Cusack movie*, you might just have to cross my name off your list as a potential boyfriend.


*Note: I did cry at the most recent John Cusack film, 2012, but only after realizing I got tricked into paying $12 to see one of the worst pieces of shit I've ever seen.

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Cry At Movies

2 Comments

Tip Our Hats: Your Internet-Self Is On Point

It’s almost a requirement in the dating world nowadays. You meet someone new at a party, you hit it off, and then over the next few days, you do the required Internet due diligence: check the Facebook profile, read her tweets, scope out her blog, all in search of any red flags. Inevitably, there’s always one or two. Maybe she listed a band you can’t believe she’d actually like, or maybe her tweets are filled with typos and abbreviations like “U R 2 COOL”, or maybe she's espousing radical Sarah Palin-style political views on her blog.

What the hell did people do before the Internet allowed you to lurk the various online personas of the person you’re interested in? I guess you had to – gasp – have real-life conversations and find out all this stuff slowly over several weeks? My God, who has time for that?! We are in the digital age, people!

Okay okay, I digress. The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve checked your Facebook profile, your blog, your tweets, and I can’t find a damn thing, not even an unflattering photo you forgot to untag yourself from. You like good music, like the same cheesy movies that I do, and you seem to be constantly doing really cool shit. Come clean: What are you hiding?

After clicking on the 20th cute picture of you at a party that looks way more fun than anything I did last week, now I'm worried about what happens when the tables are turned. Are you checking my Internet shit and judging me? Oh god, what if I don't add up? You've got me agonizing over my next tweet and I just deleted my blog entry defending the artistic merits of Air Supply. I gotta make sure I'm at my digital best for you!

As a person who reveals my faults and embarrasses myself on the Internet on a regular basis, I’m impressed by how buttoned-up you seem to be. Granted, I never got around to checking your Friendster profile, but I assume you’ve got that on lockdown, too. So to all you girls with the hilarious blog entries, correctly-spelled tweets, and artsy photos on your Flickr, I tip my hat to you. Why don’t you and I check in somewhere together on Foursquare soon?

Tip Our Hats: Your Internet-Self Is On Point

7 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Can't Cook For Shit

The holidays are upon us. It's the time of year when everyone in their mid-20s starts to feel domestic and cozy as the weather cools down and the Christmas commercials start airing on TV. It's also the time of year when I get invited to potlucks.

The potluck is the winter version of a cookout, except it's easy for me to fake my way through a cookout. Any jackass can throw meat on a grill and wait for it to finish cooking. I'm that jackass.

With a potluck, however, things get complicated. You're expected to bring a legit DISH with INGREDIENTS. I can't tell you the last time I bought ingredients and then used them to make a final product. If it doesn't come in a frozen box, a can, or from a menu, it's probably not mine.

Let's be honest here: years of being single and living with roommates and cooking for one has left me a culinary idiot. I hear people talking about buying organic and eating local foods and I have to laugh, because it's a miracle I'm even eating at all. Every time I open my fridge to find food, it's a little mini-celebration in my head that somehow I managed to not run out of groceries again.

So, unfortunately, that's where you come in. If I'm going to be your boyfriend, I'm sorta counting on you to save my life. It's only a matter of time before these freeze-dried processed high-sodium meals just straight-up kill me. I figure if I find a girlfriend who is a foodie, she could potentially add years to my life. At this rate, I feel like I'm probably clocking out at 65, which doesn't leave a whole lot of time. I need to make it until they at least invent flying cars.

I'm not asking for prepared meals here. This isn't the 1950s. But if we're cooking for two, and I have a co-captain of the kitchen to alert me when I accidentally mix in baking soda instead of baking powder, the whole thing is gonna go a whole lot smoother. I'm going to need a hell of a lot of training, because right now I can do scrambled eggs and that's about it.

So, if you're up for the challenge of teaching a totally inept dude how to cook for himself, then we're in business. On the other hand, if you'd be embarrassed that I have no idea how to pick out produce, am totally reckless with a kitchen knife, and consider Ritz crackers with peanut butter a legitimate meal option, then I'm afraid I'd make a bad boyfriend.

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Can't Cook For Shit

5 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: Car Stereo Control Issues

As we head into the cool fall months, I usually think of mix CDs and long drives through the country. Here in Virginia, it's awesome to get out of the city for the weekend and go see the leaves change color and maybe go find a hike somewhere.

Nothing "bad boyfriend" about any of that, right? Well, kinda. You might not even notice it at first. It's kind of a subtle thing, but eventually you'll catch on--and hate me for it. On the way out the door for a drive, whether it's a six-hour roadtrip to NYC or a 5-minute drive to Taco Bell, I will always have an overabundance of music with me. Usually it's a stack of CDs or my iPod, but it's always something. What's the reason, you ask? I must have control over the car stereo. I didn't even notice it myself, until an ex-girlfriend called me out on it and called me "secret controlling." That's when I realized she was totally right.

Whenever there's a group outing, I'm always the one who volunteers to drive, no matter what. As soon as we hop in the car, I have music at the ready. It's like I'm DJing my own life and I don't want anyone else to have a turn. It's totally ridiculous and I can't stop myself from doing it.

My worst nightmare is a passenger pulling out a CD from their bag and saying "Have you heard _________ yet? It's totally amazing. We should listen to this." That person instantly becomes my mortal enemy and I'll probably hate the band strictly on principle.

I noticed it's getting worse on a recent multi-day roadtrip I took with my brother. He doesn't put up with my controlling shit, so we had agreed to take turns with the car stereo. I'd get to listen to two records, then he'd get two. It worked for a while, but then I found myself totally copping out. He'd be napping in the passenger seat and I'd lie to him when he woke up about how many records I'd played. When he was listening to something I particularly disliked, I'd use the excuse that I was "getting tired behind the wheel" and needed to listen to something I knew and could sing along to.

This is a totally ridiculous problem, right? I've never met anyone else who does this. This is probably because I always volunteer to drive, so I never even have the chance to ride in anyone else's car long enough to find out if they have the same issue

So, fair warning, if we date, we'd better have the exact same taste in music because I'm going to secretly control the car stereo and it might just annoy the hell out of you. And, in turn, that will make me a bad boyfriend.

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: Car Stereo Control Issues

3 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I'm The Sweaty Guy On The Dance Floor

You know, a lot of girls complain that their boyfriends don't dance. Most of the dudes I know would prefer to kick back a few beers in the comfort of a booth or a table and don't really ever feel the inclination to shake it on the dance floor.

I'll be honest with you right now: I'm not that guy.

I know what you're thinking. You love dancing too. When the dj plays "Material Girl" by Madonna, you and your girlfriends are out on that dance floor in the blink of an eye. Wouldn't it be great if you had a boyfriend who wanted to do the same?

Maybe. But you haven't thought it through all the way.

I dance at bars, at house parties, at weddings. And here's the thing: I dance hard. I don't think I'm necessarily the greatest dancer, but I don't let that stop me from literally dancing for hours straight.

Here's where the problem comes in: Long after you've stopped dancing, I'm not only still out on the dance floor dancing with complete strangers, but now it's 1:30am and I'm a hot sweaty mess. When the inevitable Facebook photos start popping up, I'm the one people ask about. "Looks like fun, but who was that gyrating, red-faced, sweaty bearded dude?" That was me. I am that guy.

Some people make it look effortless. Some people never break a sweat. I am not fortunate enough to be one of those people. But, I refuse to let it stop me. So unless you love gross sweaty dudes who dance shamelessly to Lady Gaga, then you might want to reconsider letting me be your boyfriend.

[Photo credit: Karen Seifert]

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I'm The Sweaty Guy On The Dance Floor

7 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Abuse Our Friendship To Win Internet Contests

Okay, so I know I've only been here a short while and I haven't quite earned my keep. However, I figured since I spend most of my time on this site convincing people why I'm a bad person, I thought this would fit quite nicely.

A few weeks ago, I entered a local photo contest run by the Richmond transit authority to win a free iPhone. As it turns out, only four people entered the contest. Pretty good odds, right?

Voting ends at midnight and I'm neck and neck with one other contestant.

I thought I would try and harness the power of Shmitten Kitten to help put me back in the lead.

As we all know, everyone loves iPhones. If I'm a cool dude with an iPhone, that will surely help in landing me a girlfriend, thereby providing myself with more opportunities to be a bad boyfriend, creating more blog content, and ultimately making the world a better place.

All you need to vote is a valid e-mail address. And I promise no one's gonna spam you. I know the guy in the marketing department running this contest, and more importantly, I know where he lives.

Vote. Do something awesome on a Friday. Help me be a winner. Click on this link to vote:

http://transittalk.com/index.php/contest/

Operators are standing by: (When I say operators, I mean the Internet.)

[Update: Phil has won the contest and is now the proud owner of a new iPhone. Thanks for your help!]

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Abuse Our Friendship To Win Internet Contests

1 comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Fiancé: Cubic Zirconia

Welcome to another installment of the Bad Boyfriend Chronicles. We're going to venture into a HIGHLY FICTIONAL realm here and imagine a scenario in which I've actually successfully wooed you (unlikely), kept you interested for a period of at least a year (highly unlikely), and popped the big question to which you've said yes (lightning strike).

Since we've established a few things that make me a bad boyfriend, we're going to dive right in and start off my role as a bad fiancé in the best way possible. I'm going to kick off the whole engagement with a lie:

I'm going to buy you a cubic zirconia and act like it's a real diamond.

I know that sounds fucked up, but let's just be realistic. The most expensive thing I've ever purchased is the high-def TV that currently sits in my living room. It was $2,000. To me, that's an ungodly amount of money. But, now I get to wake up to Matt Lauer in crisp high-def as I eat my cornflakes. And when I come home from work, I can watch epic movies and VH1 reality shows to my heart's content in stunning detail. Not bad!

Imagine for a moment that someone invented a high-def TV that was 1/10th the price and looked EXACTLY the same and displayed that same crisp high-def picture and looked awesome. Maybe it had some cheaper components, but only someone highly trained in HDTV technology could tell the difference. I'd be all over that in a heartbeat. Give me the cheaper TV. I don't know any better. Ignorance is bliss.

Unless you're a gemologist with a magnifying glass, you're not going to know that I bought you a CZ. Now, this isn't amateur hour. I'm not going to get some ridiculously large CZ and try to pass it off as a diamond. My entry-level marketing job and aging Honda Civic are pretty clear indicators of my income bracket. Instead, I'll pick out something reasonable that you wouldn't suspect to be a fake.

In the end, this will all be for the best. Instead of going into debt to finance an overpriced rock that you wear on your finger, I'll save a bunch of money that will be spent in our inevitable divorce settlement once you find out that I make a bad husband in addition to being a bad boyfriend and bad fiancé.

Long after the marriage is dissolved and you've burned all the photographs and other evidence of me, you'll go to get the ring appraised to sell as a final "fuck you!" And that's when you'll find out it was a CZ the whole time. That's also when I'll officially win.

Unless of course, we never get divorced and manage to live happily ever after, in which case, I win as well.

As you can see, there's really no downside to the cubic zirconia, aside from the fact that it most definitely makes me a bad fiancé.

Things That Make Me A Bad Fiancé: Cubic Zirconia

26 Comments

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Drag You To Civil War Battlefields

For our second installment of "Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend," I thought we'd steer in a direction that is much less controversial, but infinitely more boring.

I hope you didn't have any plans on Saturday, because if I was your boyfriend, there's a good chance I'd be waking you up at 9:00am to drive out to a living history event at a nearby Civil War battlefield.

I feel like most guys have their own "nerd shit." Some guys nerd out about college football, some guys are way into cars, some guys can quote lines from any comedy movie released in the last 20 years. This is some Level 1 nerdery. I'm on Level 5.

I am a history nerd. Instead of swooning over the Twilight series, you'll usually find me reading a history book. And, more often than not, I'm reading about the Civil War.

Now, I kinda have a geographic excuse. I live in Richmond, VA, the capital of the Confederacy. The large majority of the intense battles of the Civil War happened within a 100-mile radius of my apartment. It's interesting stuff! But here's where it sucks for you:

• On a regular basis, I will invite you to come along with me to various living history events, lectures, and maybe even a few re-enactments. You might think this is cute at first, and then you'll see how into it I am, and once the chills of embarrassment subside, all that's going to be left is sheer annoyance.

• Instead of a weekend getaway to the beach or to New York City, I'm going to propose a roadtrip to Gettysburg and Antietam. The entire drive I will share Civil War anecdotes with you. I might even make you listen to an audiobook about the battles--or Phil Collins albums, but that's an entirely different blog entry.

• I will bring up Civil War historical references while we're at the bar with your friends. It will usually start with "Did you know..." and will end with all your friends thinking you're dating a TOTAL FUCKING WEIRDO.

If that's not enough, this will definitely scare you: When I first started seriously getting interested in the Civil War, the one question everyone asked me was whether or not I would ever participate in a re-enactment. My first reaction was "Oh no, no...I'm not THAT into it." But as time goes by, and as I see the direction I'm heading in, well, I can totally see myself as a 40-year-old dude with a gnarly Civil War beard, camping out with other Civil War history dorks and shooting rifles in a field. So, if you read all this and don't think that my Civil War habits are annoying, brace yourself for some Level 10 nerdery in about ten years or so.

So basically, unless you're a National Parks Service employee or someone who is already a Civil War re-enactor (hoop skirts! yowza!), you're probably going to think I'm a bad boyfriend.

[After praising Phil for having the most perfect profile picture ever, we lassoed him into being a guest contributor. He loves illegal bonfires, Big Gulps, and daydreaming about his upcoming trip to Iceland. Check him out here.]

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Drag You To Civil War Battlefields

6 Comments

Things That Make Me a Bad Boyfriend: I Will Hate Your Dog

I'm sorry, but it's true.

I know how much the little guy means to you. He showers you with love and devotion 24 hours a day. He jumps up and down every time you come home from work. He'll cuddle up on your lap when you're watching television. I get it. It doesn't matter what you do, that dog is going to be blindly devoted to you FOR LIFE.

Which, for the record, is also why I hate your dog. Believe me, I've tried to like dogs. I've tried to get past the weird smell, the poor bowel control, and the fact that they like to destroy household items when left alone. I dig loyalty. I support devotion; just not from a dog.

I've done a lot of thinking about where this comes from. I never had a dog growing up, so maybe that is a big part of it. The main issue I have is this: I think a dog's love is cheap. When you come home from work, the dog jumps up and down and freaks out like it's been five years since the last time he saw you. But here's the thing, it does the same thing when I come home. It will do the same thing to the pizza delivery guy. It's bullshit!

Not to make this a cats vs. dogs thing, but when I was growing up, unless you were directly responsible for the feeding and care of the family cat, it did not give a SHIT about you. It barely registered your presence in the room. So when my cat would jump on my lap while I was watching TV, I knew I earned that shit. It was a love based on mutual respect and appreciation: I empty your litter box sometimes, you don't knock over stuff on the kitchen counter. I GET that. It makes sense to me.

So anyway, when we start dating, I will pretend to be cool with your dog. I won't be OVERLY enthusiastic about your canine friend, but I won't let on that I'm not a dog person, because I recognize that could be a pretty big dealbreaker. I will get secretly annoyed when you can't sleep over because you have to walk your dog. I will show the minimum required amount of affection towards your dog when we hang out. I will also wash my hands repeatedly to try to remove the dog smell afterwards. And lastly, I will NEVER, repeat, N-E-V-E-R pick up your dog's shit with my hands--plastic baggy or not.

If you turn out to be a keeper, then we'll just have to weigh the pros and cons: Mindblowingly amazing girl vs. dog who I will have to tolerate possibly for the rest of my life. With the right girl, I'm pretty sure I could learn to survive life as a dog owner. Who knows? Maybe your dog will grow on me. But for now, the cold hard reality of the situation is that I will hate your dog. And that makes me a bad boyfriend.

[After praising Phil for having the most perfect profile picture ever, we lassoed him into being a guest contributor. He loves illegal bonfires, Big Gulps, and Civil War history. Check him out here.]

Things That Make Me a Bad Boyfriend: I Will Hate Your Dog

16 Comments