Category Archives: Dating

They Don’t Make Men Like They Used To? Are You Sure?

So yesterday an EliteDaily headline started dropping down my newsfeed: “They Just Don’t Make Men Like They Used To.” I had to click it because, well, I wanted to see if it was another BS attempt at blaming the opposite sex for the things the author hates about dating. It was. Written by Lauren “LMONEY” Martin (who has 1036 articles published on ED to date), and posted in the “Women” section of the site, the article is basically summed up in the headline. She says:

I love how they wait for you on benches and listen to the details of your day. I love how they talk about women with respect and admiration. I love how they take pride in their appearance but more pride in their actions. I love how they drink but can hold their liquor. I love how they are strong and stable. Oh wait, I’m sorry, these men don’t exist anymore.

Ok, she had my attention…

No longer is it clean sweaters and nice shoes, but t-shirts with the sleeves cut off and Air Jordans. No longer is it subtle compliments and passing glances, but whistling out of car windows and misleading emojis. No longer is it conversations about women with depth and real beauty, but tits and ass, always tits and ass.

Now, I know that Cary Grant, Marlon Brando and Frank Sinatra were figures created by Hollywood, but it’s about what they represented — which was style.

She actually then goes into a whole “funny,” specific list of things that men used to do that they don’t do anymore. I won’t list them all here, but you can check her out (man I hate giving stupid things good traffic). What I will do is say my piece.

Ok. So let me first say that she did do the obligatory yes-I-know-it’s-not-everyone-I-do-know-some-good-boys thing to make her generalizations seem more effective, so I guess I’ll do the same… Actually F-that. I won’t. That was stupid first and foremost because she actually said the word “boys” and then continued to say that she knows some “boys who [she thinks] will grow up to epitomize what men used to be.”

So I guess she’s been hanging around the playground lately these days?

Anyway, here’s the problem: there really isn’t one. And this has nothing to do with the fact that it targets men. I read another article on ED a few months back that was titled something like “Chivarly is Dead and Women Killed It.” Once again, it was catchy, but fell flat. Both arguments are written by whiny people who I assume are struggling to find their mate, just like all of us. Unlike all of us, they want to take the blame out of their own hands. But I’ll get to that later. Let’s start with some of the specifics that LMONEY laid out for us…

However, like anything in this world, generalizations are formed when trends are set and the men today have been setting some pretty bad ones. No longer is it smoking cigars and drinking brandy, but popping molly and smoking perks.

I have a lot to say about this. These two sentences are huge to me. First of all, EVERYONE knows that WOMEN drive the trends that men use to find women. I can’t say it has always been that way, but they damn sure do now. Women may not have all the power in one-on-one interaction with their potential partner, especially if trying to be supportive and whatnot, but as she used the term “generalizations,” so will I. Generally, men respond to what women want. Just look at any one of my friends who have straight hair. They all have the SAME DAMN HAIRCUT.


Why does everyone have this cut? Because women have determined it to be the best right now. Obviously, it varies slightly from man to man, but the above + some stubble = that dude is probably getting laid. Does every man have it? No. But the dudes who live where I do do. Trust me, if women liked bowl cuts again, I’d even try to figure out how to grow a bowl cut Afro. We as men literally will do anything if a woman likes it. I’ll also expand on that later, but Katt Williams lays it out perfectly while describing why he keeps Alize in his house:


I know those are just a couple of examples, but I doubt I really have to list the entirety that is the male existence to prove that point. But she then mentions drugs and alcohol. I love this. It’s like she’s never been to a whiskey bar in her life. Listen closely — and this can apply to many parts of her article as well — if you want something, KNOW WHERE TO CODDAMN FIND IT. If you want to part take in the finer things, go to finer places. YOU WILL FIND PEOPLE THERE WHO SHARE YOUR INTERESTS.

Why is that important? Well because I know I can go to Seven Grand in Downtown LA, to The Edison, to Wood and Vine in Hollywood, Blind Barber in Culver City, and to Tasting Kitchen in Venice (and many, many more) and find guys who enjoy Whiskey and prefer it to Molly. If you only go to EDM venues and follow Skrillex on Instagram, then it will be tough to a) avoid dudes who like molly, b) expect to find a simple man who enjoys his whiskey, and c) expect that simple man, on the off chance that you meet one, to have much in common with you. That’s like me expecting to meet a Rolex at Walmart.

Oh, and your boy Cary Grant? The type of guy you “miss”? He was real big on LSD, not so much Whiskey.

Which brings me to another point. What is with all this nostalgia for the days before women had any social rights? Do you really miss those days? First of all, how do you miss something you never knew? Does getting married at age 17, probably by shotgun, to a dude from your high school town of 400 people, and raising his kids while he cheats on you every chance he gets because “boys will be boys,” and his job flipping burgers and changing oil (at the same time — so manly) brings home the bacon? Maybe that’s the dream of some people, but it can’t be many. Women so often conjure visions of courtship and true love from the old days — not just lust and sex — so I understand why they seem desirable. But guess what, FEMINISM changed that, and in my opinion, for the better.

People always say the divorce rate is rising all the time. Did you know it’s actually falling? Since when? Well, in the sixties, when feminism finally started making real progress, women started fleeing their husbands at crazy high rates. Much higher than now. Now that people have more choices, more time to decide if marriage is for them, and more education and opportunity so that they don’t depend on us “manly men of the past,” the divorce rate (and marriage rate) has been steadily falling. Go figure.

Also, when thinking about the past, you can’t just bring up three bad ass movie stars and think that it was all zuit suits and swing dances. Have you seen Lawless? I like that example of the past much better as most americans did not live in big cities. If you take away the violence, it’s just about regular (poor) folk trying to make it. They’re wearing ties, I guess, and because they’re movie stars they look nice, but then google the people the movie was based on. Does that look sexy to you? For every Sinatra, there were a million dudes who didn’t even own a suit. And seriously, regardless of the time, do you really think men don’t know they look better in suits? Women love them. We know. Them shits be ‘spensive, yo.

But it’s not about that. It’s about the style. The romance. It’s about gestures.

I understand that. This to me is the biggest thing she misses. This is the one main thing I want to make clear. When I said I’d elaborate all those times before, it was leading to this.

Ok. Think hard. Really hard. If you’re in a relationship and in love, then stop thinking. You’re cool. If not, then think. Does an article like hers (or that women killed chivalry) really apply to you? Women, are there truly no men in your life who will buy you flowers and take you to nice dinners and hold the door open for you? Men, are there really no women who prefer to take it slow, make you work for it, and who are worth it in the end? I know people want to just shout that there aren’t, but that’s not true. You just don’t like the person who is offering you those things. You like the person who offers you NONE of it. Call it human nature. Call it stupidity. Call it whatever you want. It’s true.

The big thing we always think when we don’t get what we want out of someone else is that they just don’t do those things. I once fell for a girl and used to wonder why she would never open up. I figured it was part of her personality to be distant, to be kind of a bitch, to never let me get too close. Then one day I found an elaborate love letter she wrote to another dude begging him to do the same thing that I wanted from her. She wanted just a little more effort. She even mentioned how she did things for him she didn’t do for anyone else. I realized I was never that guy.  So here’s the newsflash, everyone is doing that for SOMEONE. If it aint you, then it AINT you. It has nothing to do with the fact that shit just ain’t how it used to be.

The worst part of LMONEY’s article is that she thinks she’s WORTH all that stuff she listed. We don’t know that. Why would anyone waste their time courting someone who isn’t worth it. I think Justin Timberlake is the modern movie star gentleman. Does this chick really think she’s going to find someone like that? She’s going to find the diamond in the rough dude with chilling good looks and the whole package and never worry again? I can tell you this, especially since she brought up how men dress so many times, I know a ton of dudes who have that haircut above, who dress like bosses, who are educated, who treat women with respect, and are actually cool dudes. What the hell has she done to qualify anything from them, besides the sex they might want if she’s decent looking and the timing works out? These dudes are going to wife up women no one else can get. Why do average people look at people who are not in their league and not get it? This goes both ways (just listen to Jenna Marbles “Nice Guys Do Not Finish Last“), too fellas. Stop waiting for Gisele. She’s not showing up at TKE at Arizona State.

Lastly, take a look at this. What does it make you think of?


If you answered something like “so romantic,” or “that’s true love,” or “that’s what I want” then you’re probably lying. Do you know the real story behind this? The dude (who actually just passed away this week, RIP) literally just came out of the subway and found the first girl he saw and kissed her. They didn’t date or get married or any of that. Just a moment.

I know for a coddamn fact, that if you were walking past the metro station on Hollywood BLVD during a parade and some dude jumped out of the subway, dipped, and kissed you, you’d shit a coddamn brick. First, you’d hope none of the other dudes you’re talking to saw you, then you’d get pissed off, then you’d tell your bestie about it and start with something like “OMG, I can’t. I just can’t. First I got a flat tire on Monday, and then the creepiest dude like literally comes out of the subway and tries to put his tongue down my throat. What is wrong with dudes today?”

I bring this up because, and this goes for both men and women, acting like they did in the old days gets you called creepy. And if the girl likes you, you get called a friend. If a dude likes you, he’ll think you’re clingy and avoid you (but still try to hit it of course). But we can’t all sit here and pretend that there aren’t people who have an idea like that of the above photo, so romantic and in the moment, and would love to share it with us. We all have that. Someone loves all of us, but we don’t want it. We want difficult. We want a challenge. We are all stupid.

Just acknowledge when you’re being stupid and stop blaming the times. You’ll find what you’re looking for, it just may take a while. You’ve got billions of options.

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Makeup Is Not a Choice, Really.

Today I read a short rant about why men should stop telling women they don’t need makeup to look good. It was pretty interesting, and not what I expected. It was written by a woman who basically calls us men stupid for saying dumb shit like that: 

It’s not liberating to hear a man who has never had to live a day as a woman tell us that we’re silly bunnies who don’t know what we’re doing with that powder brush. And what’s more empowering than the pressure to look, without any effort at all, like the media-driven fantasy of “natural” beauty? After all, we all wake up in the morning with dewy perfect skin and naturally dramatic eyes, just like Zooey Deschanel (who wears fake eyelashes to get that natural look) or Kate Winslet (who I’ve never seen without mascara or her eyebrows drawn on).

So, in closing: You’ll pry my black eyeliner and red lipstick—makeup that undeniably looks like makeup—out of my cold, dead hands. I don’t a lways wear it, but regardless, I refuse to embrace the fantasy that women just roll out of bed looking this way. 

I guess I really agree with her, but I would take it a step further. It may be the a-hole thing to say, but really yes, women do need to wear makeup. As a man, am I saying this because I think women need to just conform to my personal ideals of beauty, while suppressing their own inner beauty with blah blah blah etc etc? No. That’s not what I mean at all, although I get the argument. The question that prompted the whole article was “If makeup has indeed become the status quo in the public realm, does it ultimately damage a woman’s self-esteem?”

Maybe it does. I’m not a woman, so I really can’t speak on that. If you are a woman and it does damage your self-esteem, then that sucks, and I’m sorry. But I don’t think it will change anything. The idea of makeup, its necessity, and the self esteem problem are all kind of bigger than the question really alludes to. I think there are three main things to consider here:

1. Makeup is a not really a choice, anyway. 

I mean yes, you can choose to wear it or not wear it, but there is a cost. And no, it’s not “men will think I’m less attractive.That may be a cost to certain people, but most women aren’t spending every moment of their life hoping their makeup finds them a husband. Married women wear makeup just the same. I’m sure their husbands will be the first people to say: “In my opinion, my wife looks great in the morning.” She better, bro. And of course she does, because he married her. To him, she is the best. So why would she still wear makeup daily? 


“I totally knew I was going to have my picture taken today. This is my ‘give-a-shit’ face.”

Because she has to or else people will assume she just  doesn’t care. Other women will assume she doesn’t give a shit about how she looks. Even the husband will ask her: “Umm, honey? You not going to work today?” A woman can be just fine at the laundromat, or some other sort of situation where likability is not at risk, but in other situations it’s just a sign that you care. Maybe that does suck, and yes you can chose to go to work, or to the PTA meeting, or to a first date without makeup, but in most non-hipster circles, people (who may still want to have sex with you) will just assume you’re indifferent. Yes it has to do with TV and whatnot and models and perception, but it’s true. But don’t think it’s just you..

2. Makeup is not the only thing this logic applies to. 

As a guy there are things this applies to as well. I can choose not to wear deodorant. I can choose to grow a fat beard, wear a T shirt to a business meeting, etc. I choose to shave, dress well, and shower not because I have to, but because people generally enjoy me more when I do. And honestly if someone loved me they may not care about the fat beard or how I dress thing (aside from the first date), heck when I was in France I realized that some women appreciate a musk as well. Thing is, if I choose not to present myself a certain way, people will assume my indifference. You’ve seen it in every movie where the goofy guy has a bad breakup. How is he presented to show that he’s generally given up? A fat beard and a tee shirt. 


“Now I have the freshest cereal.”

Granted, a shower and a shave may seem fundamental, but they sow signs that we’re ready to go out and be productive members of society. A guy isn’t going today a job interview with an un-groomed beard and a T, and a woman isn’t going in for one in “Juicy” sweats and no makeup. But since we need to present ourselves we do it. That, and…

3. We really do look better. 

I look better when I do the male version of a “doll up.” Women are the same way and makeup is a part of that. I think the real issue here is that we men have convinced you women that makeup is bad, but we still respond to it. It’s our fault, really. I can’t tell you how often I see dudes post statuses and tweets saying something to the effect of “why wear so much makeup? stay natural,” or “I need a girl who looks good without makeup.” 

What coddamn crap.


“I look great, and I just woke up. And had sex. And I was drunk last night.”

The reality is, the makeup artists who work on the people we see on TV, movies, and ads are really fucking good. They can make a girl appear to be wearing no makeup. There are like 85 scenes of Lake Bell waking up in “How To Make It In America” looking great, even after a night of drinking, and they’re all a lie that we men have yet to figure out. The makeup is just THAT good. Any woman who can pull off the natural look is one we men love, even without saying it. We want to believe you have nothing on, or at least not even notice it without trying, so we can just assume “damn, she’s just that hot.”

The problem is, that’s not easy to pull off on a daily basis, standing in front of a vanity with a little kit. It’s certainly not easy when waking up late for work, trying to apply mascara during red lights on the way to work. So we sit here and look at some women and say: “Gross. Makeup sucks.” Then turn around and hit on a girl who is better at it, or had the time to trick our dumb asses into believing that nothing’s there. 

Anyway, that was just my two cents. I know it’s a touchy subject, but I guess the point is you’ll never hear me tell a girl to stop wearing makeup… Unless she looks like this:


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Never Going To Malibu Again

What can’t I say about Malibu? It’s a pretty cool place where I can pay $2 more per gallon for gas and buy organic groceries whilst Reggie Miller pedals by dressed like he’s part of the Postal Service cycling team. It’s a place where the desire to drive 100 mph down PCH is never acted upon due to traffic, lights, or police who are just hoping you’re Mel Gibson driving drunk and ready to rant. Malibu is a place that you see on every movie about California and assume LA people kick it there all the time, but in fact we never do because it’s like an hour away from everything. 

I just happened to be in Malibu one day last spring. Well, I guess I didn’t just happen to be there as much as I had planned to be there. It was something like my first or second day back in the U.S. after returning from my second season in Korea. I had been talking to a girl who lived in Malibu, and I promised I would visit when I got back. So night one was spent in San Diego grabbing my car, my homie John, and my brother. The next day we drove the 2.5 hours up to Malibu, for what was going to be an awesome day of day-drinking and beach time. It also just so happened to be Easter Sunday.

We brought all of our mascots and a couple handles of Ketel One, ready to get in the first Sunday Funday of the season. We arrived at “Marsha’s” house around 1pm and unloaded the goods (yes, I changed her name, cause this story gets weird). Neither she nor her roommates were quite ready for the hype we brought to the table. I think they may have just been waking up from a hard Saturday night, so when we arrived everyone except her was taken by surprise. But it was cool because they quickly got ready, and joined us in the kitchen for the festivities. 


My brother terrorizing Malibu on Easter Sunday. 

Within an hour, one of the handles was gone and things were getting pretty lively out there. More people showed up (all friends with her) and it kinda turned into a sunny, well lit, afternoon bonanza. The second bottle was gone soon after, so it was time to make moves. A couple of Marsha’s friends took off, so now it was just me, John, Chris (my brother), Marsha, and three of Marsha’s friends. It was at this point that John had a brilliant idea.

“I know someone having an Easter party right now. It’s my family friend ‘Jennifer.’ She lives in a dope house right on the water. We can roll over there for a bit and party on the beach,” he drunkenly announced.

“I mean,” I started, “are you sure it’s cool for all of us? We’re kinda deep right now, and I know it will be a little weird if a bunch of black people show up drunk to Jennifer’s doorstep on Easter.”

“I’ll call her and check,” he confirmed. 

A few minutes later he got the news that it would be all good, so we rounded up the troops and piled into different cars. My brother was the DD for one car and Marsha’s friend drove the other as we headed down PCH. It was at this point, while riding down PCH with Avicii blaring full blast, that I realized that this girl really liked me. I mean really. I wasn’t really sure how I felt (and I had mentioned this), because I had been in Korea where loneliness can cloud ones vision. So I guess I would have a decision to make soon. Now was not the time, though. 

We arrived at our location, but parking was a B, so we had to park kinda far down PCH, which was annoying because half of us had to get to a bathroom ASAP. We kinda rushed out of the car, and walked down an unnaturally long hill towards the street. The girls ran ahead of me, looking for a bathroom in one of the restaurants on the street. I knew the house was close, so I didn’t bother trying to rush into a local business. This move paid off, as every coddamn place was closed. Easter Sunday… We had all forgotten it was a holiday. 

Now the girls were frantic. I assured them that all we had to do was cross the street and we’d be there. John had run ahead during the bathroom search, so I told them we’d just catch up and walk in and it’d be all good. John was even flagging us down from across the street as if we couldn’t plainly see him. We sprinted across PCH and into the parking area for the complex. John had posted up out there so he could smoke. I don’t smoke, so I was kind of annoyed. 

“John, I told you before that none of us really know Jennifer. These girls gotta get into the bathroom. Come walk us in, asshole,” I pleaded. 

“Dude,” John started the way he always does when a bad idea is about to follow,”just go up there,” he was trying to talk while exhaling, “and knock. She knows we’re coming, bro.”

The girls were literally jumping around now, so there was no time to reason. I turned to them and led them towards the front door of the super awesome beachside unit. They were actually running ahead of me, asking me which door was the right one. 

“It’s the third from the end! Ring the doorbell. She knows we’re here.” I yelled while playing catch-up. 

I still didn’t at all feel comfortable with this, considering Jennifer had never met most of us and John was nowhere in sight from the door. But the situation was getting worse, so I had to put my perfect manners aside for a minute and just believe John that it would be all good. 

Marsha rang the doorbell and I stepped up right in front of her so that I’d be the first seen when Jennifer opened the door. It was one of those doors with small, crystalized glass windows built into it so that I could see the silhouette of a person walking up. The silhouette was about 15 feet away. Ten. Eight. 

I felt some raindrops on my foot. Weird. Wait? Raindrops?

I turned around and literally jumped eight feet backwards. Marsha was violently pissing herself. I didn’t even have time to process it when the door swung open. I was now out of view since my initial reaction was to jump far out of the way. Jennifer opened the door to see Marsha standing there uncontrollably shooting urine through her jean shorts. It was like a yellow rain of a thousand lemon Gatorades. The moment was hardly half a second in, when my brain clicked back on just in time for me to yell “oh, shit!”

Right then, before any other words were uttered (literally a second had passed), one of Marsha’s friends yells “hose her!” and the other one, who has commandeered a hose faster than what I previously assumed was humanly possible, begins spraying Marsha down at the same time she’s pissing and the same time Jennifer (who is about 40-something and knows none of these people) steps onto the porch. Looking back, my next move was not one of my finer moments, but I was in a panic. I took off running. 

I ran without thinking or looking back. I didn’t even get to see Jennifer’s reaction. I’m pretty sure she never even saw me there. My leg was wet, my brain was spinning, and I needed to find John. Luckily, he was still outside in the parking area, smoking. 

“John. Holy shit. John. It’s over. We have to go!”

John was obviously a little slow to react. 

“What? Slow down, man. What you talking about?” He didn’t seem very concerned. 

“It doesn’t matter. We really have to go. The party’s over,” I babbled. I couldn’t even get the words out.

“Dude. What the fuck, man? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Marsha just pissed all over Jennifer’s porch. Like through her pants. Like we have to go RIGHT now.”

John finally looked concerned. I don’t even remember what he said after. I just know we went back to the house and everyone was inside except my brother, who was uncontrollably laughing. I had forgotten that he had been there the whole time. John went in to inspect the damage. I stood on the soaked porch with my brother, just shocked at what at just happened. I just kept wondering how that even happened? Why did I run? Where the hell did that coddamn hose come from? Oh shit why did I run?

John came outside after a few minutes and told us we could come inside, but not for long. So we followed him inside to the sight of a very classy Easter Sunday dinner, that was just about to be served. This was certainly NOT a party. Fuck John, was my first thought. My second thought was why did I run? Dammit. Marsha was upstairs with Jennifer’s daughter, presumably still wetting herself, with a hose nearby, so I took a seat (instead of running this time). 

Jennifer came over awkwardly and tried her best to be nice. I guess this whole dinner was also a blind date for her. That guy is a son of a General or something. Great. I had to get out of there, and it wasn’t like we were going to be allowed to stay much longer. So all of us except Marsha and Jennifer’s daughter hit the beach for what must have been the most miserable (and sobering) half hour of beach time ever. 

“She really liked you and is scared she ruined everything,” one of the friends told me. 

I tried to convince myself that this wasn’t true. But it basically was. I saw her once more after that day and, sadly, all I could picture was an upside down open gallon of Country Time lemonade, then a hose, then the running. Why did I run? It was essentially over before it began. 

As for Jennifer, I was later informed that it would be ok if I came back and had dinner over at her place, but I don’t think I ever will. I can’t show my face. I’ll be forever embarrassed and all that really happened to me was a little piss got on my leg. Still, I may never go to Malibu again. The whole town just smells like urine to me now.

There isn’t even a moral to the story. I guess if I had to choose one, it would be don’t run from the porch of a nice lady who cooked Easter Sunday dinner for her blind date while a girl you like pisses all over the porch in front of the nice lady while your friend smokes, your brother laughs, and her friend hoses her down. I think that’s it. 

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The Stay At Home Dad

I had been thinking about writing on this topic for a while, but I felt the time finally came when an article titled “Hardwired to Disappoint? The Crushingly Low Expectations of Men” came flowing down my Facebook news feed. As I read along, I found myself generally agreeing with most of what was said. I will say that it did take an odd turn towards the end when the author started comparing mans ability to curb rape habits to mans ability to be “exciting, reliable, and emotionally aware life companions.”

The author was trying to make a larger point that women are changing and becoming more dynamic creatures while men, ever content with our own primal tendencies, refuse to be much more than ape-people, “hardwired to be emotionally obtuse, needy, and disappointing.”


I found that to be a bit hyperbolic. I mean I guess this is what I get for reading an article on Jezebel. Still, I think this article itself confounds the problem it’s meaning to confront. What good is it to ask men to be better creatures via a blog whose reader base is 95% women? What the author is actually doing is reminding women that men need to get better or women can be done with them.

“If we want to get past this maddening dichotomy between romantic happiness and professional success, we need to do more than teach young women emotional self-defense. We need men to change.”

I don’t bring this up to show spark up this debate again about confused women in today’s dating atmosphere, or even to attack the article. I bring this up because of a recent conversation I had with some of my best, most career driven, intelligent, and successful female friends. I suggested something that made them both get the DeAndre Jordan thizz face and burst into laughter. I suggested that I could see myself being a stay at home dad.

“A Stay At Home What?”

Let’s take this story back a bit, shall we? It was the summer of 2009 and I had just met this dude named John. Today John is one of my best friends (check my youtube for evidence), but back when I first met him, I asked him what he did and what school he went to, etc. He said he used to play pro hockey, but his dream was to be a stay at home dad. We all laughed as he explained that he would just really like a sugar momma to take care of him so he never had to work again. He was clearly joking, but the idea stuck with me a bit. I wondered why it was so funny, really? It wasn’t funny when women said things like that. I was now intrigued with this notion.

Fast forward. I’m on this Google Hangout (basically Skype for cool people) with my homegirls Renee who is in the top 5 in her class at Boalt Law School, at Berkeley, and Kristina who is a Sr. healthcare consultant, working on policy analysis and program design for CA’s new health insurance enrolment programs. To sum them up: bosses.

So I’m on this Hangout and somehow the stay at home dad thing comes up. I think I brought it up. I don’t remember. I had already told Kristina about it before, so I think she was silent because she wanted to see Renee’s face and hear her out so they could both laugh at me. That’s exactly what happened. Renee accused me of joking, and BSing, and generally just being me. She also accused me of not acknowledging how tough it is to be a stay at home parent. I explained that someone in my position who has the ability to work from home (writing, photography/film and editing, etc.) could potentially make the choice to stay at home, and that could be cool. Also, raising a family isn’t easy on anyone, and yes it would be taxing, but does that mean I’m not equipped? I did add some jokes in there about how if my kids were boys we’d go around putting Mentos into Pepsi’s, and causing a ruckus like “Where The Wild Things Are,” but overall I was trying to make a point and I think it fell on deaf ears.

I know the reason, and the Jezebel article kind of touched on it, but fell short on specifics. Women are attracted to powerful men, successful men, motivated men, and intelligent men. Women want someone who they feel is at least their equal. The idea that a man would want to stay at home would be a turn off for her first and foremost, and secondly for her friends and family who would show her no mercy for choosing such a “loser.” I understand that. The idea of financially supporting some guy who is at your house all day seems odd.

It’s no secret that the modern career driven woman is put in a tough position of not only choosing between family and career, but even just finding the time to have a serious relationship and still climb the ladder. By writing off a man who would potentially support those goals, she eliminates a potential solution to the problem.

“Say that on a first date,” Renee suggested at one point while I was explaining my rationale, “and good luck.”

She rolled her eyes, but she’s the perfect example of the modern woman who I’m sure would never sacrifice her career for a family. In fact she’s said before that she’s unsure if she even wants children (I presume because her aspirations won’t allow it). But she also wants a man who does all the traditional courtship hoopla. She wants dudes to be at least as successful as she is, as motivated, to pay on the first date, to make the first move, etc. To put it plainly, she’s the least “traditional” woman I know, yet expects more “tradition” than most. She’s creating her own conflict because she may be truly happy with someone who may not be as career driven, but would support a family and her goals. That man won’t get past step one of her criteria.

So the article suggests that in order to support women like her, men need to change. I contend that men have changed. Well, at the very least, we’re beginning to change. While we haven’t come full circle, were hiring female CEOs, casting women as bosses and breadwinners in TV shows, accepting two income households, and some of us even think we could be decent stay at home dads. For realzies.

No I’m not saying it’s been without the work and determination of many women who have fought to inspire us to change. I’m saying men created so many social and economic blocks that really it’s on us to continue to remove them and truly make the sky the limit for our women. It’s happening either way as more women are put into the positions that make those decisions and propose those laws.

So, in my very bold opinion, women are the ones who are having a tougher time changing. Why can’t I be a stay at home dad, then, if a woman should expect me to be content with her earning more? For so long men didn’t expect anything out of women but to raise a family. Why then can’t this be reversed? If a man isn’t hardwired to be primal rapists who try to impregnate everything moving and move on to the next, only staying long enough to hunt and protect, then why are we consumed with the converse idea that men are 100% hardwired to be unable to run a household, take care of children, etc?  Why is it always the woman’s burden to choose between work and family? Besides the movie “Love and Basketball” (spoiler alert – but really if you haven’t seen it by now you never will) where Omar Epps retires from the NBA and raises the baby girl which allows Sanaa Lathan to join the WNBA, I have personally never seen a movie or TV about a straight, married, stay at home dad that wasn’t a comedy. Well guess what? That situation needs to be much less laughable if women are to continue to rise to positions of prominence.

Men can’t be criticized or thought of as losers if some just want to be a trophy husband who loves his wife and raises her children. Trophy wives were cool for all of eternity before a generation or two ago. So I say, if both parties are cool with it, there’s no reason a dude cant be on some successful woman’s mantle. There are TONS of services that place women with wealthy males, so I assume there will soon be similar services in reverse. Just let it happen, girls. It’s what you wanted.

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Trying to Hollar in LA (video)

The MOST accurate portrayal of what it’s like to contact women in L.A.

Email From Mom

Hey Jr,

Katrina and I have begun watching a TV show called “Basketball Wives”.  And well, we’ve decided that there needs to be a new show called “Basketball Moms”, so everyone could see how we basketball moms spend our time plotting and running off these expensive basketball wife hooches from our sons.



I Have A Real Life Stalker (finally).

—-the names have been changed to protect myself—-

During my second week here in France (early September), I logged onto Facebook and did my normal add-friends-poke-back-wall-post deal as usual. Unlike MySpace, I never really check who I’m adding, I just do. The ‘book is just not as crazy as MySpace so I don’t find the need for background checks.

Well, maybe that time has come, because just when I thought Mark Zuckerberg had made it safe to Facebook, I got a message from “Julie” on Facebook messenger:

“Welcome to Nancy! I am excited that you are here.”

“Thanks,” I answered.

“I am friends with your teammate. I saw your practice today.”

“Have I met you before?” I asked.

“No. Just saying hi,” she replied.

Like most random people who hit me up on FB Messenger, she just wanted to say hi. I was fine with that.

A few days later, she hit me up again.

“How are you?”

“I’m cool,” I answered.

“I miss you,” she said.

“Wait, what? I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you before.”

The whole “I miss you” thing 

“Why are you being mean? O.K. then. Goodbye,” she wrote.

The next day at practice I told my teammates about the whole interaction. Naturally, they asked how she looked. I tried to help them focus on the point of the matter. She had never met me and she missed me. That pretty much negates everything else anyway.

So a few days later, I was with my man Lamayn at a local club and she showed up. I felt kinda bad about what I last said to her and since this was our first meeting, I apologized, but told her that it’s not normal for someone to miss someone they had never met. 

The next day she hit me up on FB Messenger again.

“So are we still on for Friday?”

“What do you mean are we still on?” I asked her.

“You told me we would get together on Friday.”

“No, I didn’t. I said one sentence to you. I never said anything about that.”

“Why do you change your mind?”


“Then when you are ready to spend time with me let me know,” she said.

Then an hour later:

“You can just tell me if you want to hang out with me or not,” she said.

I wasn’t near my computer so it went unanswered.

“Fine. I guess I have my answer,” she wrote.

A week later she sent me a message about how she doesn’t want me to leave the team and that she read in the local paper that I could be leaving soon. I disregarded it.

Fast forward to November 8th.

I had just gotten back home from a road trip to Cholet. It was 1:15 AM and I was about to leave my spot to go to Lamayns to pick him up and hit the club.

As I walked out of front of my apartment building, there was “Julie” at the call box.

“Who are you here to see?” I asked, befuddled. 

“Don’t do this to me,” she said.

“Don’t do what? You’re clearly not here to see me.”

“Please don’t do this, not again. You know I’m here to see you.”

“Are you serious right now? I didn’t invite you here. Don’t do what to you?”

“You told me to come over.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m clearly leaving. It’s 1:20 in the morning. I’m going downtown. I was supposed to meet up with Lamayn 5 minutes ago,” I informed her.

She started getting teary eyed and I felt a little bad.

“Where, when, how did I tell you to meet me here right now?” I asked her.

“We spoke on MSN,” she answered.

“Well, I don’t have MSN. People in the US use AIM. MSN is for Frenchy’s.  Everyone knows that I don’t have MSN. If thats true, what’s my screen name?”

“It’s Boom Tho,” she mumbled. 

“I mean, that appears to be a good guess, but I don’t have MSN so someone is playing a joke on you or you’re lying.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“YOU don’t believe ME?” I nearly yelled out. “O.K. I’ll prove it to you.”

It was nearing 1:30 now, but I didn’t care. I ran upstairs and grabbed my laptop. I brought it back down and proceeded to scroll through all my apps. MSN was nowhere to be found. I then took the laptop back upstairs and came back down. She was teary eyed again.

Maybe she thought I was going to invite her up or something but that was the furthest thought from my mind. I was late for party time with Lamayn.

“So there you have it. Sorry to tell you, but either you’re being pranked, or you’re lying to me. Either way, I have to go.”

I got in my car and left and had a great time that night. I ended our Facebook friendship (first time I’ve ever ended a FB friendship) and I haven’t heard from her since.

The End.

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The iPod Game?

Memorial weekend was coming to an end and it seemed like we hadn’t really enjoyed our pool at Caesars Palace quite the way we should. On Memorial Day Monday we decided this should change. JGant, Ramy, and I headed to the elevator to go down to the pool. When we stepped on, there were three pretty good looking women on there too. We talked for a second, then parted ways when the elevator reached the lobby. 

We dropped our bags off at the front desk and headed over to the pool. After searching for 3 chairs for what seemed like ages, we finally found our resting place in a shaded area of the pool deck and sat down. 20 minutes later, those same girls from the elevator came walking out of the pool in their swimsuits and sat in their chairs, which just so happened to be 15 feet from us, facing us.

 I’m pretty sure that most girls look better in swimwear (see why I’m always trynna get in there?), and they were no different. They went from good to great just that quickly.

So now we are sitting in our chairs with our sunglasses on and they are in sitting in their chairs, sunglasses on, and we are all pretending like we arent looking at each other, which is impossible because our chairs are 15 feet away and facing towards one another. It was half-awkward, half-awesome. My glasses don’t allow you to see my eyes, so I made it a point to look straight ahead, but check them out at the same time. 

Finally, JGant went to go grab something from his bag. I was going to ask him to grab my book so I could read, but I realized that that was foolish. I instead told him to grab my portable ipod speakers and my ipod. It was time to get this party started.

When he came back, I started playing music at max volume. The speakers are loud, but not THAT loud, so the girls could hear the song well enough, but not great. I played everything from Usher to Journey, from Bob Sinclair to Mickey Avalon. It wasn’t long before they all bought in. They were singing my songs amongst themselves like we were in a club. Still, the music hadn’t brought us together, which was my ultimate goal.

Ramy had just come out of the pool when I asked him to do me a favor. I told him that I was gonna play a song and that he should walk the ipod dock over to the girls and set it down right in front of them. He was reluctant at first, but after some more convincing, I started a song and he walked the dock over to the girls. He sat it down at the feet of the hottest girl and said “this is from him.”

“Tell me why

Ain’t nothin’ but a heartache

Tell me why

Ain’t nothin’ but a mistake

Tell me why

I never wanna hear you say

I want it that way”

Oh yea. I definitely sent them “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys. They laughed and enjoyed it. After that, the flood gates were open. I walked over and said “I’m sure you’re used to guys sending you drinks. I figured I’d send you a song. A song that shows just how I want it: that way.”

We started talkin w them and ended up riding in their car over to TAO Beach at the Venetian. Once we were there, we got in the pool and had the greatest pool party ever.

We finally parted ways at 9pm that night after a whole day that started with a song. If you’re not enough of a poet to compete in the <a href=””>Poem Game</a>, then try sending a song. Maybe your day will turn out like ours did.

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Poem Game 3

I was down in San Diego last week to visit the mother when I decided that it would be a good idea to visit my high school’s basketball team banquet. You know, one of those end of the year, let’s celebrate the good guys and give certificates to the scrubs, type of deal. 

While I was there, some of the kids on the Varsity team wanted to know how I felt about helping them work on one of the servers with some poetry. Specifically, they wanted to play The Poem Game. I was all for it, of course. I was able to grab a pen and a napkin and I got to work. It seems to be getting harder to come up with new poems on the fly, but I was still able to whip one up. This is what I wrote for them: 


Outside this room golf is everywhere, 

But inside this place love is in the air 

You wear black and white, I want to Looky 

You look like a tasty Oreo cookie 

Think about the games we could play 

In a golf cart out on Lomas Santa Fe 

Monica, you work here, I’m from Torrey Pines 

Monica I could say your name a 1000 times 

If I’m a ninja turtle, be my April O’niel 

Come get my Ooze, if that’s how you feel 

Better yet I’ll be Shrek, you be Fiona 

We’d make sweet artwork like the Mona 

Let me take you out to lunch, be my Hannah Montana 

You bring some chips, I’ll bring the banana! 

I gave the napkin back to Ramsey Hopkins, a junior at TP. He then gave it to the server. Here’s how it went down:

<br /><a href=””>Untitled</a&gt; from <a href=””>Rod Benson</a> on <a href=””>Vimeo</a&gt;.

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Ode To Jenna Fischer Part 2

Earlier today, I went out and bought “Walk Hard.” I popped into my xbox and started watching it. I had no idea Jenna Fischer was in that bad boy looking as gorgeous as ever. It pissed me off in a way. Why did nobody tell me that the official Boom Tho girl was all spiced up and hot in a Judd Apatow movie? It caught me by surprise. I would have gone to the theatre to see it if I had known all the details. 

Anyways, the fact of the matter is that the Boom Tho GOTM’s have gotten more attention lately than the original Boom Tho Girl. Jenna, I haven’t forgotten about you. We have a chemistry that only two people who have never met can share. It’s special to only us. So, I decided that you needed another poem to show you just how I feel. The first poem can be seen in “Ode to Jenna Fischer”, but this is the second one. This is Part Dos! 

The past few months have been really whack 

But 2 weeks ago at 7 The Office came back 

I’m so glad she came back – I’ve missed her 

That’s right, I’ve missed you Jenna Fischer 

I know you think we don’t know each other 

But after watching Dewey Cox, I think you need a brother 

If you were some milk, I’d be like Ovaltine 

We’d get some brown in you if you know what I mean 

Yep, I said it, I’m anything but coy, 

If your life is a happy meal, then I’m your free toy 

My beds like a ship, let me be your captain 

Come to my room, “Where Boom Tho Happens” 

So what if Will Farrell felt you up in blades of glory 

The irrigation room gets wild after dwights bedtime story 

You’re like the Little Mermaid, Ariel of the Sea 

Ill go to the water where it is hotter take it from me 

Let me show you why they call me Too Much 

I just want to treat you like my Ipod Touch 

The next line is dirty, If you know what I mean 

Treat me like a Nintendo Cartridge that’s not clean 

We could be like Jules and Seth, solid as a rock 

You can scratch my back, but it’s located on my —

Let’s make some sweet music like Bleeker and Juno 

When it comes to Boom Tho girls, you’re numero uno! 

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