Posts Tagged ‘the science of dating’

Well, the election is over.  And although the world might be coming to an end, I will now be blogging more often.  So there’s always a rainbow, my friends, always.


So my best guy friend and I were discussing dating.  Not dating each other, but dating in general.  He shall remain nameless, but then again, I have remained nameless so the mere naming of my friend would have no meaning to you.  So I could technically name him, but I’m still not going to on the off chance you do know who I am and then you might figure it out.  But then again, if you do know who I am then you  already know who I’m talking about…  Well whatever!  Can you just stop being so difficult for one second of your life, and let me tell the freakin story! 





We often times find ourselves having these kind of conversations in hopes of figuring ourselves out and better understanding our issues so that we may become a beacon of light, a shining example for our gender.  Or we do it because we are the only ones who will not judge us for the ridiculous and terribly honest things we say.


elbowFirst, there’s something you’ve got to understand about my friend.  Let’s call him Kenny.  Happy now?  Well, Kenny once broke up with a girl because of her elbows.  And I rejected a guy one time because he was too Italian.  And I love Italians, so as you can imagine, this was a tragedy of mass proportion.   The point is, we are relationally challenged.  We’re very good at talking ourselves out of things using any justification at our disposal, and if there isn’t one available then we just make it up.  Most of our conversations resemble reruns of Seinfeld or something of that nature.  Get the picture?  Of course you do.  You’re bright.


So we’re sitting there, discussing our problems and an exchange to the following effect takes place:


me: ok.  so, again, why can’t you like her?


ken:  well, the personality is great.  face is great.  everything is great.  and I might even say it’d be the real deal if…


me: ….if what?


ken:  it weren’t for the gap.


me: what gap?


ken: the teeth gap.  can’t get passed it.


me: Ok, so to recap: you’re not going to date this girl, who otherwise might be the one because you can’t get passed the gap?


ken: no, its not just the gap.  but thats a big part of it


me: well that’s good to know.  I’m glad it’s not just the gap, but that it’s a whole slew of frivilous things.  you’re growing.


ken:  i mean, if i could just close it somehow. [holds up his first finger and thumb to form a gap]


me:  close it?  not gonna happen.  and you can’t suggest that.  no.  NO.


ken:  no?  but what if….


me: no. 



Check out more of the Kenny Chronicles:


A Conversation at Starbucks 


Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water



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Lately, I’ve received alot of questions to the effect of “how do I find the one?”  Well, it just so happens that I have more than a few answers up my very svelte sleeve.  I’ve spent weeks, possibly even months [if I were to have logged all my time] researching and compiling data for what I am about reveal to you.  As per usual, you can expect to pay not a single PENNY for the knowledge that I am about to impart upon you!  It is but merely the beginning of a lifetime of benefits that you will reap by reading this blog.  How shall I be compensated, you ask?  The smile on your face.

For many of you, it’s not that you’re unlucky, you’re just looking in all the wrong places.  As I’ve repeatedly said, you’re never going to find creme brulee on the Taco Bell menu, and unfortunately, you never will  [because it would be awesome to be able to get a Chalupa and creme brulee all in one stop].  I will further demonstrate my point in the following chart.  Please study it with ravenous desire.  memorize it.  picturize it.  dream about it at night.  frame it on your wall.  tape it to your fridge.  fold it up into a teeny tiny piece and carry it next to your heart… for contained therein you will find the answer to one of life’s most perplexing questions. 



Now, if you look carefully, you will observe that you have equal chances of meeting your future mate in: rehab, space camp, a safari, solitary confinement, or your mailbox.  But now I want you all to take out your microscopes because we’re going to delve into this and chizzle away to find out how this affects your dating life.  With closer analyzation, you will discover that you actually have a greater chance of meeting your future mate in solitary confinement, than you do at the bar.

staggering?  perhaps groundbreaking?

  something to think about.

For more on this popular dating series, please read: The Science of Dating: Know who you are.

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[Please be advised that the following case study is not only FDA approved, but it is the result of YEARS of research and should not be questioned]


I find that the whole dating process is nothing but a huge waste of time [and his money].  You may or may not agree with me, and as you could have guessed, I don’t care.  Here’s the problem:  you meet; you flirt; you have ridiculous, surfacey, nervous conversations that don’t make any sense; you date; you think you might have found “the one;” and a year later – BAM! You’re dating Psycho McBipolarPants.  But then it’s too late because you either feel sorry for them and can’t break it off or you’re too overwhelmed at the thought of starting over, so you just stick with the loser until three years have come and gone.


So,” you ask, “how does one ever solve this age-old dilemma?”


Well, as usual, you’ve come to the right place.  By now, I’m sure some of you have realized that I am a savvy expert on several topics… but what you may not have realized is that I am also a scientist.  A scientist of love.  And I welcome you to the coolest, most color- coordinated laboratory you’ve ever been to.


It’s simple.  All you have to do when you meet someone is tell them what movie character you are.  As soon as you mention that, they will understand everything about your personality and life so that they can make an educated decision whether or not you’re meant to be.  If not, peace out sucka!  If you don’t know how to figure out what character you are, I’ll get you started with the following quiz of the most popular pesonality types [answers are written below]: 


1.  You’re one of those super nice-guy dormats.  You’re not materialistic, but you occasionally wear spandex and perhaps a Van Halen tshirt.  Your friend resembles Boy George.  You have a curly, Jewish mullet.  You like the Cure [and God love you for that].  Who are you?


2. You attended etiquette school, although you now pose nekkid for a mere $0.10.  You like long boat rides and dresses that cut off your air supply.  You were rescued from plumeting to a watery death by a strapping young gentleman.   You repaid him by not so much as sharing the slightest piece of your raft when he was dying of hypothermia in an abyss of blustery water.  Who are you?


3. You love reeses pieces, and you pick them up with your very long fingers.  No matter where you are, you love to call home.  Your very long fingers light up on occasion.  Who are you?


4.  You’re an avid collector… of skin, mostly.  You might have played hockey as a child, but now you wear a mouth guard for a different reason.  You can’t resist the Bath and Body Works 2 for $5 lotion special.  You’re voice is a bit creepy.  You’ve contemplated eating a few of your friends.  Who are you?


5.  You’ve been robbed, more than once.  You enjoy high risk sports – often inside the house.  Growing up, you hated your parents and your cousin often wetted the bed.  You’re scared of spiders, but are willing to touch a tarantula if need be.  You’re quite the ecape artist.  You have abandonment issues due to your parents leaving the country without you a couple times.  Who are you?


6.  You have a lucky streak.  You volunteered for the army.  You’re an entrepreneur who loves his mom.   You loved one girl your whole life, but she never paid attention to you until she was dying of AIDS.  You and your offspring are named after a large clump of trees.  Who are you?


7.  You believe in love at first sight.  You can think up some pretty sneaky plans… but when it comes to follow through you really suck.  You talk in Old English, and let’s face it, you aren’t that pretty.  You kill yourself at inconvenient times.  Who are you?


8.  You’re pretty, I’ll give ya that.  You think black boots go with everything.  If you get short on cash, you sell your body.  Who are you?


9.  You are pretty gullible.  You’re a loner.  You’ve spent most of your life hiding from love, but when you finally discover your dream girl – you find that she is actually an ogre, much like yourself.  Who are you?


1.  Robbie Heart [Wedding Singer]  2. Rose [Titanic]  3.  ET  4. Hannibal Lector [Silence of the Lambs] 5. Kevin [Home Alone]  6. Forrest Gump  7. Juliet  8. Pretty Woman  9. Shrek

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[DISCLAIMER:  I take the issues discussed in the following blog very, very seriously]


I have had a longstanding issue with dairy products.  My contempt for said products may be the result of some deep-rooted childhood suppression that my shrink has yet to pry out, I’m not so sure.  Lactose intolerance?  No.  Vegan? Over my dead, very carnivorous body.  Alas, I wish the answer were that easy.


My taste buds do not discriminate against all dairy products, only a large majority.  Products currently on the black list: eggs, cottage cheese, yogurt, and milk.  Don’t even get me started on milk.  The reason why I despise the forementioned food items is because they possess one of the following qualities: slimy-ness, creaminess, or both.  But here’s the real thorn in my side– ice cream.  Love it, when it’s actually frozen [as God intended]; hate it when it starts to melt; and can’t DEAL with sharing it in any capacity or watching someone consume it.   I used to have a friend that microwaved his ice cream into a sort of soup.  Keyword “used to.”


Now, to me it seems pretty simple.  Certain foods make me gag = I don’t eat them.   Apparently, the individuals of the male gender cannot accept this as you will see displayed in the following dialogue.


Me: [sitting down on the couch with a huge bowl full of delectable oreo ice cream]


Him: dang. That looks good. Gimme a bite.

Me: no.  I can’t do that.  sorry.

Him:  why? I bought it.  I just want a bite.

Me:  I know, thanks.  You can go get your own, but I can’t give you a bite.

Him: i don’t wanna whole bowl.  what’s your problem?

Me:  I don’t share dairy products.

Him: I don’t want to share it, I just want one bite.

Me: i understand. but you know how when someone takes a bite and there is some melty residue left on the spoon? 


Him: yea?

Me: well so do i.  and I can’t deal with it.

Him: ok. I won’t leave any residue then.

Me:  but yes, yes you will.  It is an impossible feat to not leave residue.

Him: what the heck? why does it bother you so much?  You need to get over that.

Me:  because it’s gross and I hate it.

Him: but why? That makes no sense.

Me:  it makes no sense why you care.

Him: because it’s annoying.

Me: it’s annoying that you’re trying to psychoanalyze my paranoia of melty ice cream.  

Him: [walks over to get his own spoon, comes over and sticks it in my bowl]

Me:  what are you doing?!?

Him: I’m not sharing your spoon.

Me: but you’re eating from my bowl!

Him: I thought it was the spoon that bothered you?

Me:  it is.  But now you have your own spoon with your own melty residue and are scooping across the ice cream that I’m eating.  That’s still going to be a problem. 

Him: you have issues.

Me: yes.

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WARNING:   I’m going to have to ask that no matter how innocent and beautifully honest this blog may be, that you don’t fondle, grope, caress, or touch it inappropriately in any way – even if it is the blog of your dreams


BREAKING NEWS:  Prince Charming was NOT spotted today [or ever for that matter]  galloping upon a snow white steed, harboring a large shield for warding off dragons or scary people with guns, while traveling  through the enchanted forest to rescue a long- haired, bottle -blond damsel with daddy issues.  Sources have revealed that the reason he was not spotted was because he actually does not exist!


[ Cinderella’s response to the shocking news: “You mean I’ve been sweeping up all this soot and ironing my evil stepsisters’ button down shirts and there’s no fricken prince at the end of the tunnel?  What kind of CRAP is that?!” ]

Ladies: let’s just get something straight.  Prince Charming isn’t around.  He jumped the border and he’s headed for Atlantis.  To my knowledge he hasn’t even left a close relative or body double to be your shoulder to cry on.  He didn’t even leave his snow white stallion around the stables for you to pet.  His mother, the Queen of Nonexistent Men, found this note under his pillow:


 Dear Completely Delusional Yet Surprisingly Hopeful Women of the Land, 


“I feel like a classic fool.  [the imaginary Prince is British, of course]  I could no longer keep up this silly charade.  Blessed Respite! I am nothing but a fake.  I’m a big, fat (but very trim), dodgy  phony. I don’t have a steed, or a stallion, all I’ve got is an ‘88 Ford Fiesta.  I don’t ward off dragons, I run in the face of danger.  I run! I am nothing but a yellow- bellied coward, a coward I say!  My entire life is a farce, and I am the only one to blame.  Except for my mum who is partly to blame.”

 Cheers,   Prince C.




MORE BREAKING NEWS:  We are getting reports of a supposed uproar in Disney World.  Snow White has strapped a bomb to her up-do and is threatening to blow up her Happily Ever After Castle (which was to be her wedding gift from King Charming)  The Gingerbread man has plummeted head first off Humpty Dumpty’s wall, and Tinkerbell has joined forces with the fairy godmother coalition to spread raging pixie dust wildfires all across the land!



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Dear Women,

I’ve been noticing in the past week that quite a few of you appear to be on the prowl for the right guy, as the searches to get to my site have tripled for keyword “prince charming.”  First of all, get over it already.  Secondly,  if you wanna hear my take on it, here it is.  Enjoy!

Well, wedding season is upon us, and since i must keep up with my usual ritual of being in at least 4 weddings this summer, that means i’ll be quite busy.  tonight is one of those nights.  So alas, I shall leave you with a tidbit to nibble on, until i return.

 I’m sure all of you are thinking to yourselves, “man, no tornadoes, no earthquakes, no hurricanes…i wonder what’s been going on out east lately?”


1. Today, a roasted chicken stuffed with a pipe bomb was found on the side of the road in Connecticut.



2.  Last friday, a Pennsylvania man called 911 from a porta -potty that he got himself stuck inside of, drunk and nekkid.   




3. This afternoon, someone reported a school bus travelling erratically down the road.  After the bus was pulled over, the driver was found to be a young man who had heroine, knives, and large sums of cash.  He reportedly told police that his friend had gotten arrested and left him without a ride, so he had to steal the bus to get home.




 what’s up New England? 

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disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.


Him: can you trim my hair?  its getting kinda bushy on the sides.

Her:  yea, i can do it real quick before i leave.

Him: sweet.  thanks (puts towel around his shoulders and sits on the toilet)

Her:  (grabs the scissors, picks up the bathroom garbage can, and hands it to him)  here. can you hold this please so i can put the hair in it?

Him: not really.  its dirty.

Her: its dirty?

Him: yea.  dirty.

Her:  (ties the trash bag and sets it on the floor, then places the can back in his hands)  there. now its not dirty.

Him:  yes it is.  its been on the floor.

Her:  the floor? my floor is not dirty.  i’m a painfully tidy perfectionist, remember?

Him:  (begrudgingly places the can between his legs)

Her:  no.  (puts it back in his hands) i need you to hold it up higher so i can reach it.  otherwise, it defeats the purpose of having it there in the first place.

Him: i’m not holding it (hands it back to her)

Her:  you’re taking a shower after this, so what does it matter?  (hands it back)

Him:  (hands it back)  it matters because i don’t want to. thats why.

Her:  well you know what?  i  don’t really want to cut your hair when i’m running late but i am.  it’s not always about what you want.  i actually need you to hold the garbage can so it will be easier for me. 

don’t you think you’re acting a bit childish?

Him: so you’re calling me a child because i don’t want to hold a dusty, nasty crap bathroom garbage can that has pieces of your hair and chunks of gooey hair products and fiber bars stuck all over the bottom of it?

Her: oh, i’m sorry.  i’m sooooooo sorry that i have long hair and it gets all over everything.  last time i checked, you loved my hair.  would you like me to chop it all off?

Him: uuuuugh. 

Her: what?

Him: yes.  yes.  that is what i would prefer.  please cut your hair all off like a man so the garbage can won’t be gooey and hairy. 

then i can hold it.  then you can cut my hair.  then everything will be perfect and the stars will align,  hilary clinton go home, and evil dictators will acquire a soft spot and people everywhere will be free.

Moral of the story?



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have you recently found yourself mid-conversation and realized that you have taken a sudden turn to Creeptown? 

Define CreepTown you say?

[Cr-eee-p  T-oun]:  1.  one who makes another’s skin crawl  2.  to act in an unbelievably awkward manner  3.  the science of being creepy   4.  one who possesses a molestache

**Well, this is the first installment of a two-part series in which we will help you determine if you are setting up camp in a Creeptown near you:


1.  the molestache. 



If we take a look at mustaches throughout the ages, we can easily see that the simple addition of facial hair can have an uncanny ability to transition any ordinary lad into a raging creep.   Do not be fooled by the Tom Selleck’s of the world and their unassuming upper lip sweaters.  It is but merely a smoke signal far off in the distance of what will soon blossom into a fullgrown creeptown.  see examples below:

can you guess who these promising young saplings are?



these young mustache-less boys appear to be completely normal at first glance.  their hopes are high.  the sky is the limit.  there’s nothing on their horizon except everything. .. and its all fun and games

until one day, when this…



                       turns into this:





a) jeffrey dahmer  b) sadaam hussein  c) charles manson  d) hitler  e) ron jeremy  f) michael jackson

so now i raise the ever obvious question… what do all these CreepTowns have in common? 

i think if you search deep inside you’ll find you knew the answer all along. 

knowlege is power.

Click here for part 2 of Anatomy of a Creeptown : Conversion vans.

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disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.

Her:   (reaching into the fridge to grab a carton of OJ….noticing that it feels rather light)   
Why do you drink the juice when I said it was for me?

Him:   It’s just juice.  It’s for drinking.

Her:   But the point is, I said it was for me.

Him:  This is the fourth time we’ve argued about this…  what is your deal with the juice?

Her:   Well, my DEAL is that when we’re at the store, you specifically say you don’t want any juice.  I said I needed it because it has Calcium and I hate milk – that’s why I bought it.  Then you end up drinking it all and I don’t get any, when I’m the one who wanted it.  Thats my deal.

Him:  It’s been in there for a week.

Her:  Maybe I didn’t want any yet.  But now I do and you’ve almost drank it all.

Him:  Is it all gone?

Her:  It’s almost gone.

Him:  But is there some left?              

Her:  Yes.

Him:  Well have some then. 

Her: That’s not the point, the point is that why can’t you get your own juice when we’re at the store?

Him:  Honey. You’re being ridiculous.  What are you going to do when we have kids and little Jimmy drinks up all the juice?

Her:  obviously, that’s DIFFERENT.

Him:  How is that different?  So Jimmy can drink the juice and I can’t?

Her:  Well you should know better… besides, maybe Jimmy can have his own juice too.

Him: It’s so obvious you were an only child.  And the kids will not have their own juice. If Jimmy wants some juice, I’ll pour him a tall glass, and then one for myself.

Her:  We’re late for church.



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disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.


Her:  can you please be sure to put the cap back on the toothpaste from now on, because otherwise it gets all crusty and you can’t get it out? (see exhibit A) 


Him:  umm, ok.  (obviously taking offense to this statement which was merely a request, and clearly not an accusation)  yes, but can you be sure to put it back too?

Her:  (sensing a fight on the horizon)  yea, i usually do put it on, but i’ve been noticing that you haven’t so i’m simply asking if you could.  thats all.  (walks into another room to get some food)

…la de da de da ….life is good….butterflies..unicorns…rainbows…hearts…robinhood…mr. rogers….  

(he strolls in …)

Him: ( in a quasi-joking/ quasi-serious tone)  honey, seriously, but can you  remember to put the cap back on?

Her: OBVIOUSLY, i will put the retchid cap on.  OBVIOUSLY, it bugs me.  OBVIOUSLY, i wouldn’t be asking you to do something that i have no intention of doing myself.  what would be the point of that?

Him:  i’m just saying, that i went in there several times, and it wasn’t on.

Her: PSSH, probably cus you were the last one in there and you left it off!

Him:  so you’re saying that you don’t brush your teeth these days?

Her:  (with the fire of some other-earthly dragon starting to well up inside her, she is thinking: “are you just too important to put the cap on?  are you just too burdened and overworked by the act of putting the cap on that you must, in fact, destroy any chance we had at a happy life together?”) well. for the last two weeks i’ve noticed you haven’t been putting it on, so therefore, i figured there was no point.  but then it started getting crusty and annoying, and i couldn’t take it anymore which is why i brought it up.

Him:  YES! that is my point!  you don’t always do it either.

Her: (thinking: “oh no he didn’t”)  are you serious?   this is ridiculous.  this whole thing could have been avoided if you’d of said “ok,”  but noooooooooo, you had to get all defensive and think i was accusing you when i wasn’t.   i’m not saying i NEVER leave it off, i’m just asking if you could put it on.

Him: there’s the problem right there.  you are saying my feelings are invalid

Her:  please. you watch too much Dr. Phil.


…the moral of the story? 



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