Side-Face: Side-Lined

I think Emmerson asked the question de jour when she asked me why don't guys know what's good for them? - and then do that. See, she was referring to Side Face boy, a guy she has been dating for the last month or so. A little blase about him in the beginning, he'd recently kind have been growing on her; as they were spending more time together. But then Side Face, had to go an open up his mouth and just couldn't close it. Why, let me ask again, why would you continue to talk about something that a girl you only just started dating and who you're still trying to impress has asked you repeatedly not to talk about? The event went something like this...

Side Face: blah blah blah.
Emmerson: Could you not, that's really disrespectful. You know I hate that.
Side Face: No. blah blah blah.
Emmerson: Please. could we just make this rule #1
Side Face: #1? you've already made rules 1-100....

Oh no he d'int. But sadly Side Face did, and I'm figuring you can guess what happened to this budding romance. If guys only listened and then realized how simple it is to make women happy (I mean really, Side Face, just take one word out of your vocabulary when talking to Emmerson, talk about it all you want to your friends - just not her) the world would be a much better place. But instead we must continue to deal with these childish little men.

Gas Stations Are The New Pink

This just in, everyone's favorite Sadie gives her seal of approval to gas stations. Now you're thinking, ewwww, gas stations, I know - but hey, what's Brit's fave place to urinate barefooted? - that's right, bitches, the gas station. So don't knock it till you tried it...Where's the perfect place to pick up guys, coffee shops, bars, rehab? nope. Gas stations. Oh, dear Sadie, thank you for this wonderful insight. Trolling gas stations late at night looking for guys (or you know, filling up the gas tank) Sadie spotted a little hottie across the pump sitting tall in his sleek, black, Range Rover. Of course after the fact, Sadie told me she was stupid to do it, but after a full tank and few minutes of eye sex Sadie sauntered over to Mr. Money Bags. At the time she rationalized it with the thought that nice car, nice looking guy, who cares if he's taking me to "some house in the hills" where he could chop me up into little pieces and I'd never be heard from again, he's gotta be legit, right? hell, he could just be the heir to some multi-million dollar mid-western fortune. Ah, Sadie your ability to pin point people is uncanny. Mr. Money Bags is legit, super nice, and who'd-a-thunk an actual heir to a mid-western fortune. So here's to you, Sadie, for making gas stations the new hot spot. Maybe you should quit your boring job and join the Psychic Friends Network.

Fresh Off the Boat

Ahh...single girls in L.A. They're an interesting breed. I mean Jordan, in the five years we've been friends, I don't think she's been without a guy (being a cute girl who's also a drummer in a band goes over pretty well); but for whatever reason ( I think it's to toy with their little minds) she decided to venture into the world of, yes, online dating. Sigh. With what site you might ask, let's call it Jew-Date ;) ( I know I'm so coy with my veiled references). So I get a call from Jordan after her first date with her FOB Israeli. In the country for just a week, unemployed, and a smoker, FOB, was not exactly the ideal date. But then Jordan painted me a little picture...she lovingly referred to him as Super F'ing Ripped Israeli boy, and then explained to me that he had abs like a Grecian god. Shallow? Maybe. But would you do it too? Definitely. We're talking like, I could wash a shirt old school style like my great grandma back in the shtetl-just need a water basin and some soap-kind of abs. So about the date, she gave FOB an overall score of 6, and she broke it down like this: english speaking abilities = pretty good, conversation skills = good, level of interest= high, seeming involvement in a shady pyramid scheme = high, paid for her drink = yes....but that he was a little short. Short on what, you might ask? - height. Like short, short. In her heels, small Jordan was FOB's same height - that kiddies, is what we call a deal breaker. Till next time...

Let The Games Begin...

So here it goes. All the words of wisdom, the scathing accounts, the snarky quips - brought to you (on a platter), courtesy of the one with the gift of gab...MarniStone.