Real Talk: Bad Boys Over 30 Must Die

From Julia!

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 Ones 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.

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.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Grimy Cups

You know what I like? Being friends with a guy who cooks. Want to know what’s even better than that? Being friends with a guy who cooks, is adorable, AND has an awesome kitchen. Quickest way to kill my dream of being one of cute couples that hang out in the kitchen? His grimy cups.

Let me explain: back during my university days, I had a group of friends that would dedicate one night a week to movie night. Everyone would make a dish and pile in over at whomever’s apartment was the most accommodating (re: clean) and with enough comfortable seating for everyone. Lucky for me, the cutie of the group had the apartment with the best seating.

So there I was, flirting with the cute chef in his kitchen while daydreaming about being that indulgent couple that hangs out in the kitchen. He offered me a drink while I imagined us feeding each other pastries, freshly baked from our oven. I’m thinking that I’ve hit the foodie jackpot.

Then he opens the cabinet that houses his cups. His grimy cups. Those scaly, scuffed-up, slice-your-mouth-open plastic cups.

You know the kind:

• Where you can tell, from the discoloration, someone was drinking red Kool-Aid at some point several uses ago.

• Where you can faintly smell the dishwater detergent crammed into those cracks and crevasses every time you take a sip.

• Where you can clearly see the scratchy and fuzzy reminders of months (years?!) of constant chewing around the lip.

I put on my poker face and politely accepted his frayed and scummy cup. I tried to hide my dismay as I surveyed the damaged goods, hoping there’s a spot on the lip of the cup that’s not too icky. I failed miserably and ended up parched for the rest of the night.

Needless to say, I started bringing my own drinks after that.

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "How Are You Going To Get There?"

Sorry man, I’m gonna be old school about this, but you gotta get your butt in gear, ‘cause if this is going anywhere, you better be driving me somewhere, somehow because I am not chauffeuring your ass around town.   

Yeah, that way better include his ass driving me there. 

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Story Time: The Dumbest Reason You’ve Ever Dumped Someone In Six Words

There are plenty of great reasons to dump someone. Maybe you want kids and she doesn’t. Maybe he is a compulsive liar. Maybe he collects DUIs like Pokemon cards. Those are all legit reasons to peace out.

Today, we aren’t concerned with the great reasons. We’re thinking about the stupid ones. The challenge is to describe the dumbest reason you have ever broken it off with someone in six words. I’ll get the ball rolling:

• Feet smelled like old tater tots. 
• Awkwardly stared straight up while kissing. 
• Always ordered pizza or chicken fingers. 
• Perfume smelled like freshly cut grass. 
• Preferred “Voyager” to “The Next Generation.” 
• Voice sounded like a teenage boy. 

Got any awesomely dumb reasons for putting the kibosh on your relationship? Leave ‘em in the comments!

[Previously: Worst Dates in Six Words Part 1, Part II, and Part III]

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Can't Navigate Around an Airport

From Melissa, who can’t understand why he’s a total shitshow at the airport:

Watching his confused face look up at that departing flights screen is like watching my mom check the Internet. 

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Quick Rant: He's So Not Hitting On Me at Work

From Leah:

Look, I get it. I’m a redhead with natural C’s, wearing cut-off shorts at a surf bar, bringing round after round of rum punches. My appeal is twofold: aesthetic and alcoholic. But as charming as I can be — and believe me, after a couple pitchers of Trader Vic’s Punch and some banter, I’m RILL charming — I’m still, at the end of the day (er, night) just doing my job. And that means he’s not getting my phone number.

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Bonerkiller: She Is A Violent Kisser

From my new writer, Sam: 

She latched onto my mouth and began to maul my face. Her tongue flailed about like a coin-operated mechanical bull. I attempted to guide the kiss back into neutral territory but my efforts were for naught as she latched onto my lower lip with leech-like suction. It was jerky, frantic, and forceful: no words that should ever be used describe a kiss. There was a lot of oral gesticulating going on. Her tongue was like a panicked octopus playing Pictionary trying to act out the words to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon with 15 seconds left on the clock.

It was not hot.

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Oh No He Di'int Downgrade Our Date

From Tanya, who was sincerely stoked about having some bomb-ass Thai fusion but was willing to settle for a little less but not that much less: 

I get it. The economy is rough. Some nights you really don’t want to go out. Occasionally, date night rolls around and you realize you’re two days away from laundry day and your best duds are at the bottom of the pile; you’ve still got clean clothes to wear but it’s not your winning outfit, and you don’t want to expose the dregs of your dresser to streetlights or restaurant glare. Sometimes you’re a grad student with nightmares about paying back that unsubsidized loan. 

I get it. 

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I Love Love Love When a Guy Rolls Up His Button-Down Sleeves

From Samantha, who digs a rolled-up sleeve, mmkay?:

Rolled up sleeves just bellow, “I’m a business dude who also likes to kick it.” I imagine him rollin’ ‘em up while in a stressful office discussion regarding spreadsheets or this quarter’s sales reports. Or maybe we’re sitting outside some crappy bar and the sun is streaming a ray of helpful sunshine down on him and is all, “I’ve got your back, girl” and thanks to the heat, he’s forced to roll them up and give me a peek at what I’m working with: Hairy arms? Not so hairy? Strong and strapping? Floppier than cold spagetti? I’ve GOT TO KNOW.  

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I Love Love Love When A Guy I've Been Crushing On Admits To Also Crushing On Me

“What I found out later, is that he thought about me too. He would go out of his way to walk by me. I’m not the crazy one who crushes on strangers; he did it too, about me! He daydreamed about ME.” 

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I Love Love Love When He Reads A Book I've Recommended

From Katie, who digs it when a guy can get down with her, book-wise:

Do you remember in Beauty and the Beast when the Beast gives Belle the epic library? I’m going to be honest: That scene may have caused me to wonder why I ever considered bestiality unacceptable. If I were Belle, I would have been all over that hairy/dog-boar-man-thing in thirty seconds while all the enchanted candles and clocks watched.  

I adore books and it’s my dream to have an incredible library. Basically, my books are like little pieces of me and without them I would feel super lonely. I think this stems from all the time I spent being a social outcast in school, and there are many nights when I’d rather take a hefty novel to bed than some idiot guy. I might as well get some sort of stimulation, right?  

But, there are those rare and glorious moments when a guy comes along who actually reads, and in turn wants to read a book that I recommend. When this happens I feel like Ron Swanson does when he has a glass of scotch and a giant slab of steak. I feel like everything is right in this horrible, horrible world. 

There’s nothing quite as awesome as a dude borrowing one of my books and it’s obvious that he’s read it. I don’t even care if he hated it, because at least he took the time to try and get to know something I care about. It’s like those times I try to watch hockey with him even though I don’t understand anything about it. I am trying, and when he reads one of my books I feel like he’s trying, too.  

Don’t even get me started on those once-in-a-lifetime moments when a guy actually recommends a book to me that isn’t “The Catcher in the Rye” or some Jack London bullshit. Now, that’s some pure Disney magic I can get down with.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Lack of Hand Soap

From Marielena, who just wants a convenient post-loo suds situation: 

What? Where’s the? How do? How does he? Where’s the damn hand soap?!  

That was my thought process when I went to my guy’s house for the first time. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly: He had a good job, nice shoes, good taste in women (heyo!) and whiskey, but what was up with the no hand soap?! Maybe he just ran out and didn’t have time to get a new bottle? Ew! Dirty!

It’s always strange going home with someone you barely know or are in the process of getting to know. There’s a million questions running through my head: Is his apartment gross? Is his cat friendly? Is there a Silence of the Lambs murder pit in the basement? O, the courtship dance! O, the ancient push and pull!  

Not having basic necessities like soap or, god forbid, a fresh looking toothbrush, is just one of those big red flags that screams, “I’m an adult baby!” And, real talk ladies, we all know that dirty paws + the pink = UTIs = NOPE.  

I had to keep reminding myself that he’s cool and nice and that I could do this. I ended up using some of this Dove 4 Menz body wash/shave gel/toothpaste/shampoo/ nonsense to clean my mitts and went back to drinking Laphroaig and watching “Breaking Bad” with him on his couch.  

But you can bet your bottom dollar that I made sure to save the HJ’s for the next time when we were at my place with the full arsenal of C.O. Bigelow at our disposal.

Get Out of My Face, Movie Dates as a First Date

From Sam, the kind of guy who’d much rather make first-date nervous small talk when apps and zerts are involved:

I’m not exactly sure how going to the movies became first-date fodder. Third date? Sure. Couple in a committed relationship? Great. I would be happy to be the shoulder to cry on when she finds out Mufasa isn’t just taking a post-stampede snooze in The Lion King. I’d even be willing to sit through the adventures of Sarah Jessica Parker and her non-equine counterparts traveling the world in search of the perfect pair of shoes.  

Just not on the first date.   

I’m taking a stand on this issue

Getting to know someone is what a first date is all about. Not just the typical job/family/future questions, either. I need to know that she will be there with a pity laugh when I make a bad joke. I need to be sure that her reaction to seeing my tattoos isn’t, “I’m surprised you have a job.” Perhaps most importantly, I need to gauge her reaction to my borderline obsession with my awesome cat. None of these things are possible if we are both watching Angelina Jolie make her male co-star uncomfortable with a post-coital one-liner.  

If I were writing this post as a freshman in high school, I might have a different perspective. After all, going to the movies is one of the only times two awkward teenagers can swap saliva without worrying about mom coming around the corner. As an adult with a readily accessible private place for shenanigans, I’d much rather pass on a first date at the movies in favor of something that would allow my companion and me to determine if we are, in fact, the same kind of crazy.

You can’t see me, but I just initiated a slow-clap while nodding my head in agreement.

Picnic Dates, Fuck Yeah!

By Kelly, who loves picnic dates more than Dance Moms love bickering:

Spring has finally sprung! Although there are many things I enjoy about the onset of this season (daffodils, baseball, stuffing myself with Easter candy), my number one favorite thing about warm weather is the return of the picnic date.

This cute as hell

If you’ve never been on a picnic date, you’ve been robbed, my friend. A picnic date is one of the most romantic, yet simplest date ideas that exist. Done right, a picnic date can make you feel like you live in a Jane Austen novel, only way better because you don’t have to wear a corset or marry a guy for his money. Here are my five steps to the perfect picnic date:

1. Find a big ass blanket that you don’t mind getting dirty to be your picnic blanket. Offer to carry it even though you know your date will end up carrying it, because men have this thing about always carrying stuff (not that I’m complaining). Also bring a Frisbee and whatever books you and he are reading at the moment. 
2. Walk to the local market to pick out what you want to eat for lunch. Society dictates that you MUST buy a baguette, because what kind of picnic would it be without a baguette? You also need to buy the most expensive type of brie, because if you’re going to blow a week’s worth of saturated fat on one item of food, it had better be the tastiest you can get. 
3. Find a local park that isn’t overrun by children. Spread out your blanket and get to noshing. Don’t feed each other, because we’re trying to be romantic here, not act like we’re toddlers. 
4. When you’re done with eating, there is no limit to what to do next. Throw a Frisbee? Kick a ball around? Swing on the swings? The warm weather will make you giddy enough to actually enjoy exercise. (Strange concept, I know!) 
5. When you’re finally tuckered out from all of your physical activity, pull out your books and read together on your picnic blanket. Enjoy your break from the computer/cell phone/TV screen. Head home when both of you reach a lull in your books’ plotlines. 

And there you have it: the perfect mix of vitamin D, endorphins, and oozy French cheese to put the romance back into your relationship, or at least back into the idea of spending time outside.