5 “Nice Guy” Myths

Addendum: When I say “Nice Guy,” I don’t mean actually nice, kind men. I’m talking about jerks in sheep’s clothing. The Nice Guy I’m referring to is the kind of guy who, somewhere along the way, was taught that if he was polite to a woman or listened to her while she talked pilates class drama that she owed him something. An example would be when  you’re on a date with a guy, and he’s very polite and gentlemanly and insists on paying the bill. Then, when you don’t go home with him he gets angry or annoyed or calls you a tease. “But I’m being NICE and you stupid girls always talk about how you all want a NICE guy.” Which then usually prompts these guys to think, “well, girls only date assholes and if you’re too nice to them then they just want to be your friend,” never stopping to think that being polite (particularly, when you’re doing it for disingenuous reasons) isn’t the same as being a good person. 

Before we get to the hard hitting facts portion of this blog, I’d like to show you the source material for today’s post: The Nice Guys of OKCupid. A slightly controversial tumblr about men on the dating site who call themselves “nice guys,” yet also feel like ladies should be “obligated” to shave their legs, while they let their jazz dots and chest hair roam free. Here’s a nice little write-up on the site.



This new tumblr has inspired me to dispel some myths so we can educate these “Nice Guys” (who are actually just jerks that think opening your car door is the fastest way to open the door to your heart. Just kidding. Your vagina).

MYTH: Nice Guys finish last.

FACT: Tom Hanks seems very agreeable, and one might say that he has done well or finished first in both career and romance (Rita Wilson, you are aging like wine). This saying just makes no sense at all. Perhaps it is a very effective way to convince yourself that nothing is wrong with you, only with the women who choose not to date you. The saying “nice guys finish last” seems like the cousin to the phrase “I’m too dedicated” in response to the question at a job interview, “what’s your worst quality?” You do have a worst quality and it is not that you open doors and don’t back hand me for getting sassy with you.

MYTH: “I’m so nice that I keep getting put in the ‘friendzone.'” 


FACT: There is no such thing as a friendzone. The friend in question just doesn’t find you attractive. Remember in “Just Friends” when the women didn’t want to date fat Ryan Reynolds even though she liked his personality? At that point he was no where near attractive enough for her. She was so hot that she was making like a Rockford Peach. Girl was in a League. Of. Her. Own. Then when Ryan gets hot, suddenly, “ruining their friendship” isn’t such a big deal anymore. Do you really think that we would choose not to date a good guy that we found attractive and we knew liked us because of some weird friending policy that we instated at our last “Ladies Trying to Ruin the Lives of Men” meeting that all women of child bearing years are obligated to attend?

MYTH: Women only date assholes.

FACT: Well, Rihanna dates an asshole. Your point checks out so far…

BUT, this one time in college I dumped a guy because he was an asshole. Sorry! Foiled again, Nice Guy!

MYTH: If I’m NICE to a women then she is obligated to date me or give me her panties to show my friends in the bathroom at prom (I’M not saying “panties;” I’m using Nice Guy vernacular). 


FACT: Just because you displayed some basic human civility doesn’t mean anyone has to throw you a boobie parade.

MYTH: This isn’t true! You’re an uptight, feminazi bitch, Dara!

FACT: Heeeyyyy! Calling someone a bitch isn’t very Nice Guy of you! And I am not uptight, you should see me after I’ve had a mojito.

5 Reasons Why Taylor Swift Can’t Find Love

May I take a stab at this one? I have a few ideas:

1. Taylor is sooooo tall. That eliminates an enormous amount of the male celebrity population right there. That only leaves her with guys who are okay with her being taller and guys who are actually taller…So Tom Cruise and Jason Segel. And since Jason is taken by Michelle Williams (but ultimately by me. Just get me to Hollywood and you’ll see!) that leaves her with Tom. I dunno… I think she’d make an okay scientologist. Think about it, Taylor. Jenna Elfman and the guy who played Hyde on That 70’s Show could be the god parents to your future alien children. 

2. She keeps dating these young guys. A high schooler like Conor Kennedy is probably pretty immature and not anywhere near ready to settle into a long term relationship, but this speaks to a much bigger problem for Taylor: that she is a total weirdo. What I’m about to say is sexist, and a very unpopular opinion amongst the men that I tell this to, but I know I’m right: Girls (ages 15 to 28ish) who date a guy more than 2 or 3 years younger than them are weirdos. If you think I’m wrong, then you are either a weirdo girl who dates young guys or you’re a guy who thinks he’s a stud because he dated an older lady once. You don’t have to believe me, but trust, a 28 year old woman is only dating a 23 year old guy who works at Applebees because she can’t find a 28 year old man with a stable job who is willing to date her. She’s probably going to tell you she’s on the pill, and then when she gets pregnant she’ll say that she must be one of those .01% that birth control doesn’t work for. JUS’ SAYIN’. To circle this back to Taylor, I think guys her own age and older are catching on that she’s a total weirdo.

3. She’s scaring guys off with her love songs. Taylor, I know how it is. Being the Taylor Swift of blogging (right? riiiiiiight?) I understand that it’s irresistible to write about guys, but if finding love is very important to you right now, maybe consider writing a Christmas album and let that ride for a while.

4. She falls in love with everyone. This is what 8th graders do! She needs to start writing songs about how she sort of dated a guy for a couple months but then they just kind of phased each other out, but sometimes when she’s in town they make out a little bit. They can’t all be the love of your life, Taylor! Hide your cards a little bit next time. I have a bad feeling that the “love” was all on your end in these past relationships. I’m pretty sure John Mayer is a sociopath and unable to feel love, so I think that proves my point. UGH, and get rid of that house you just bought next to Conor’s. SO WEIRD, TAYLOR.

5. SHE IS TWENTY-TWO! Good lord, US Weekly, give her a break- she has so much left to do. She hasn’t even taken a year off from working and bought her way into Harvard yet.

Oops: When People Find Out I Blogged About Them

So you can just color me uncomfortable because as luck would have it, when you put a blog on the internet anyone can read it- including, and especially the people you might have written about. Particularly, if you always post about your blog on Facebook, and then your friends post about your blog on Facebook, which is really just solid marketing, until it turns out that your subject in question is just one Facebook friend removed from you.

See: The Compulsive Bike Stealer.

Last night I got a new comment on that post…..
I mean, he called me “pretty lady” so he doesn’t seem that mad about it…

Meanwhile, on Facebook:

That comment was from our subject.


But really, at this point both his cousin and the Bike Stealer himself outed his identity for anyone on Facebook, so it’s hard to feel guilty about a little story told ’round the internet through Gallery Girls stills and Wayne’s World clips.

Now I just sit and wait for the day when this all catches up to me and I never get a date again because guys are afraid I will blog about them. But I won’t blog about you if you don’t do anything weird. I think we can all agree that’s fair? I mean c’mon you guys!!! He stole bikes!! What was I supposed to DO?!

Plus, for all the guys I have written about, there’s a handful more that are even weirder that you’ll never even read about.


I’m just giving it a few years until they all forget who I am and then I’ll probably write a book or something.

The Compulsive Bike Stealer

Our tale begins on a staycation with my friend, Caroline. If you’re unfamiliar with the term “staycation” it’s when people who are too poor or busy to go on a real vacation spend the night at a hotel nearby because there’s something special about sleeping on a mattress that thousands of other people left their dead skin cells on. STAY-CAY-SHUN!

{Just to be clear, this was a staycation, not a lovers’ gettaway, but I can see how this picture may have confused you}

After some flatbread pizza in the hotel restaurant –excuse me– BRASSERIE, Caroline and  I went out on the town with buckets–simply buckets–of red paint.

We ended up in line at Mija Cantina, where a gaggle of greasy men behind us started trying to engage us in conversation. I maybe talked to them for a second, but they were rude, and I wasn’t sure if that was a vile of GHB in their pocket or if they were just happy to see me.

One of the guys invaded my treasured personal space and whispered, “you’re giving off this whole bitchy vibe and I think it’s so sexy.” To which I replied,

and turned around before I spewed feminist vitriol all over historic Fanueil Hall, Boston.

Then the group of men in front of us commandeered our attention merely by looking less like sex offenders. They were nice, and we talked for a good 20 minutes, but when we got inside and they offered us a drink we pulled the trusty “bathroom escape” because 1. I just wasn’t feeling the guy who was talking to me and 2. I’m not saying he was as small as me, but in a pinch we could have probably shared pants.

I really did have to go to the bathroom, and on our way back into the bar on our quest for greener pastures, Caroline’s friend from college intercepted us. He was with a friend, who was cute, but it was no Wayne’s World “Dreamweaver” moment.

His friend and I talked, and it was fine. Until. UNTIL. We realized we had the same birthday. And then we started talking about astrology. And then he said something about how inappropriate men can be in bars and how he worries about his sisters, and then this, and then that, and then,

This could be it, you guys. This could be The One. The one that I would give my phone number to AND almost surely, probably definitely end up texting back.

As we talked more, it seemed like he had the soul of a hippie in the body of a distant relative to the Kennedy’s, which is kind of the dream because I loves me a hippy, but hemp jewelry is the adornment of Satan. At this point, it was all A-game. My voice was suddenly a full octave higher (and one octave lower than my waitressing voice), hair was being tossed in all directions, everything I said was through a freshly Crest white stripped smile.

I. was. on.

It was all going so well. As the four of us walked outside in search of cabs, DW (Dreamweaver) mentioned something about stealing a bike, which was confusing. Surely, this happened one time, when he was drunk, and he returned the bike with an apology note the next day. We all do crazy things under the influence.

{Not exactly bike stealing}

Then the bike stealing came up again. But this time it was “bicycles.” As in plural.

Wait, wait, wait. HOW many bikes are being stolen?

A: “8… to 10… to 12…”

 {Rubber ducky from our staycation. This was the face I made in regards to the bike stealing}

With that, my voice dropped down 1.5 octaves, or into my Olivia Benson range, which I use to suss out potential murderers.

DW thought I was getting the wrong impression of him, but I don’t know. He sees a bike on someone else’s property, has an overwhelming need to take it, rides it away, and dumps it in a designated patch in the woods. Why was my impression wrong? Is he leaving out that he gives these bikes to orphans in need of reliable transportation and/or fun leisure activities?

These bicycles are chained to wood on someone’s porch, “wood that you could so easily snap, and then the bicycle would be all yours.” He said this with a dreamy look in his eye that somehow made the word “wood” sound like “human bones,” and also suggested that he might have a promising future as a staff writer on Criminal Minds.

We finally got to the hotel. For some reason they had ended up following us there, and as we walked into the lobby, I reassured Caroline in my dedicated detectives of the elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit voice that they weren’t coming upstairs because, “I got this.”

Then it was just three of us. DW was outside talking to the door men, which his friend said he does all the time. Like, he’ll just talk to doormen for an hour. Just out of curiosity I asked his friend if DW was crazy.

“Like, he’s fun and stuff,” he said.

“No, I mean is he unstable.”

“It sounds like you want to marry him or something.”

As if even after an hour of this kid telling me about his bike stealing compulsion, my dainty lady brain would be so awash with baby hormones that I would want to marry him.

How is it possible that after this kid went on and on about how he can’t help but steal bikes- nothing else, just bikes (which he referred to only as “bicycles,” which somehow makes it more insane) that I am still the crazy female?

This needs to be said to any male reading this blog. If you are not a male, please pass this message along to the nearest male: we don’t all want to marry you! In fact, I’m guessing, the vast, incredible majority of females do not want to marry you. Oh, and on a separate but related note, that gay guy isn’t hitting on you, either, so just calm down.

That’s a Deal Breaker, Ladies!

  • A dead tooth. A missing tooth might not be a deal breaker if it’s far enough back.
  • A missing tooth. Who am I kidding?
  • Wears a fedora. Even if you just wore one once in a Facebook picture, I can never unsee that. I just think a fedora is a symptom of a much bigger problem, like a lack of self awareness and good judgement. (Sidebar: a woman in a straw fedora is not only acceptable, but encouraged).
  • Wears a pork pie hat.
  • Wears any hat for fashion and not function. Baseball hats and winter hats are functional. News boy hats do nothing for no one.
  • Addendum to the above statement: Visors are not technically hats and, yet, despite their function, are a deal breaker.
  • Invites you to a teen community theatre production for a first date or any date thereafter.
  • Compulsively steals bikes (have I got a story for you guys! I’ll tell you about it this week).
  • Posts his own poetry on his Facebook. Reading people’s poetry makes me very uncomfortable.
  • Doesn’t watch TV. What am I supposed to do with you? How can this work?
  • Refuses to dress up for Halloween. If I can’t even get you in a funny or whimsical tee-shirt on my favorite Holy Day, then we are too different and this can never work. If it’s between you and Dead Tooth Guy, if DTG will dress up as Buddy Holly to my Mary Tyler Moore, then you know what my decision is…

It should be noted that these are just my deal breakers and are probably not universal deal breakers, though they should be. It should also be noted that I do not have a boyfriend.

In Defense of the Facebook De-Friend

I have been de-friended by maybe a handful or two of Facebook friends over the years. I’d  imagine this is due mostly to some people’s spring cleaning ritual of dumping friends they don’t know and/or people that are sick of my constant blog promotion (look, I have never made an invitation for people to give me their phone numbers because I don’t have the presence of mind to backup my SIM card. It’s just a few blog links, you don’t have to click on them).

Only once was I defriended because of someone actually being mad at me- over a disagreement regarding cat sitting, no less. I don’t need cat sitting in my life. Good riddance.

To some, I think the de-friend is a huge F-U when used in the symbolic context of eliminating someone from your life with such finality. “Not only do I not want to hang out with you in real life, I’m going to cut you off from being able to check up on my relationship status. You will never know if I liked The Mindy Project enough to “like” it. That is how much I hate you!”

But the crowning, the Ultimate-Grand Supreme, the Honey Boo Boo of all “SUCK  ITS” is being on the receiving end of a Facebook block. I have received that privilege, again, just once, and like 9/11 and the assassination of JFK, I remember just where I was when I found out (for the last two: 7th grade math class and a glimmer in my father’s eye, respectively).

It was this past May (of 2012 for the aliens who have taken over Earth and are reading this 600 years from now), and I had met three of my college gal pals at a bar before a Red Sox game. After discussing which Sex and the City character we each were (as I mature I begin to realize that maybe I am, in fact a Miranda, but I believe my core spirit is truly a Carrie. Though, I do hope that I would be the kind of person who would have accepted Aidan’s love or at the very least, not taken Big back after he left me at the altar) we got to talking about boys.

Now, we were updating one another on former/current flames, and I mentioned that said  former flame had deleted his Facebook. Glances were exchanged, and then my friend Kelley did the deed of explaining, that I had actually, in fact, been blocked.


The block is so insulting because it feels maybe a little like a restraining order, which are only handed out to stalkers. When it comes to Internet stalking, I am like the lost Olsen triplet, because I can solve any crime by dinner time, as in, I’m a straight up sleuth… but I am no stalker. I imagine I was blocked because I might have blogged about him and maybe made some disparaging comments, but you could hardly call it defamation of character– I didn’t use his name. And even more importantly, I had already defriended him at this point. Sir, you cannot block me after you have been defriended. That’s like saying, “you can’t fire me!! I quit!” This is not the pilot episode of The Nanny!

It was annoying at first, but I have come to believe that a block is a real blessing in disguise. Even a de-friend is a great course of action when it comes to a break-up of lovahs or friends. In the age of Facebook, I have come to know WAY too much about you people.  With ex-friends, no matter how much I dislike them, a little part of me feels left out when I see pictures of them out and about having an especially good time because I always remember the part of them that made me want to be friends in the first place. And I don’t need to know what that old flame is up to. Even though I know I’d never date any of those “hims” again, I still like to take a peek from time-to-time, and there’s no reason to. There’s nothing that roots you in the past more than checking up on what you are or are not missing.

I just think Facebook and Twitter tethers you to the past a little too much than what is healthy. Isn’t it much better to just let someone go and move forward? I was talking with my dad, who isn’t on Facebook, and an ex of his (before my beautiful and saintly mother) came up and in regards to her he said, “who knows what she’s up to, she could be dead by now.”

What a lovely idea. To just not know. They could be dead! Is that just me? It just seems so much more pleasant to put people in the past where they belong. Not checking up to see who they committed to instead of us, or to see if they got fat (which is still satisfying, but probably not right). I’m just saying that maybe it would be healthier if we could be a little more generous in our Facebook de-friends no matter how insulting it is. It’s for the best.

Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively Still Believe in Love!

God Bless these two crazy kids. They still believe in love.

It’s been a tough week for love. Amy Poehler and Will Arnett are splitting up. Love is DEAD.  I fear that the spirit of Amy and Will’s marriage drained from them and was reborn through Blake and Ryan, two people that are probably more insufferable, definitely more attractive, and surely less equipped to be married than Amy and Will.

The only divorce that could be more painful would be that of my own parents, but this has turned everything I know about love upside down. If Amy and Will can’t make it work, how will Blake and Ryan? How will Dara and An Unspecified Future Male???

The Amy and Will break up is so upsetting because when it comes to Blake and Ryan, I’m not betting on Love. Ryan has already proven that his judgement can’t be trusted after he married ScarJo and her husky man-voice. She looks like a very mean lady. Now Ryan has gone ahead and found another woman with a husky-man voice, who at the very least seems nicer, but it’s only a matter of time until they fall out of love and he moves on to, I don’t know, Julia Stiles and her husky man-voice.

With Amy and Will, I was not just betting on Love, I WAS ALL IN.

Was it the stress of the children that tore them apart? Was Will the problem (he was married once before, and it can’t be Amy because SHE IS FLAWLESS)? Was it the fame? We may never know until one of their relatives sells the details to TMZ.

Anyway, what can you do? It’s over for Amy and Will, but it’s only just begun for Ryan and Blake, and despite Love’s recent untimely death over the weekend, I’m still pulling for these kiddos.

Good God, I can’t even pretend like I care. Don’t bother me unless Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck are starting to look shakey.

3 Questions For Guys

  1. What is it with you people and piggyback rides? I’m not sure if you think it’s chivalrous to offer yourself up as a legitimate form of transportation, but this is not Greece and I’m not going to ride your back like a donkey.

    Okay, but I’ll accept a ride from Mrs. Affleck any day. Violet makes it look so much fun!

    You know what’s more polite than trying to get me to stick my butt out into the open air with my legs wrapped around you while wearing a dress? Suggesting we take a cab! One time, I had a guy ask me to go out with him to a BBQ festival while I was on crutches, and when I said no because trying to clear long stretches of a grassy field on one functional leg might be tiring, he said, “but I promise to give you all the piggyback rides you want!” Perfect, because what woman over the age of 12 doesn’t want to be carted around in public on the back of another human being for two hours? This anecdote brings me to my next point:

  2. Why are you all so fixated on nice weather? When I told this kid I didn’t want to go with him his retort was “but it’s a BEAUTIFUL day!!!” I spit in the face of your beautiful day! I don’t care! You know what ruins a beautiful day? Sweating in a plaster cast while you drip barbecue sauce all over yourself.

    UGH! Leave me alone, Bono!

    This is not the first time someone has used the “but it’s a beautiful day” defense on me, either. Ya know, if I asked some guy out and he said no, I’d quickly end the conversation, delete his number, throw my phone into the nearest body of water, run in the other direction pretending the whole thing never happened. I certainly wouldn’t try to convince him that I’m suddenly more attractive and tolerable to be around because it’s 75 and sunny.

  3. Do you think being a DJ is impressive? This is not really directed towards all guys, just one specific guy that came up to me and told me he was a DJ and then followed it up with a sigh and the words “I’m so f*ing good.” He meant he was so f*ing good at DJing! Ahhh! Did chills just go up your spine? Predator! Predator!

Ooooh, you men are a mystery to me!!

I Love You, Tom Selleck

As a child, I had some eccentric interests and behaviors. I know there’s a picture of me floating around in the 5th grade wearing bindi on my forehead and kissing a wooden post on a jungle gym, in an effort to mimic both Gwyn Stefani and Mary Catherine Gallagher at once. Whimsical and economical with my time– how did my parents get it so right with me?

My choices in preteen heart throbs were also whimsical. Obviously I loved the usual Jonathan Taylor Thomas’ and Leonardo DiCaprios because I wasn’t so weird that I couldn’t function in normal society, I just also was a secret freak who enjoyed the gentlemanly appearances of:

Tom Selleck:

Tom in “Three Men and a Baby,” one of my favorite childhood movies other than the “Look Who’s Talking” trilogy.

I was told liking Tom Selleck was weird, but I just think I had the sensibilities of 45 year old. To say “had” is misleading. I definitely still do.

Chris Hardwick from “Singled Out”:

Do you even remember this show? I shouldn’t, I was 7 when it came out, but I’m a 90’s savant.

This was the best picture I could find of Chris in his ‘Singled Out’ days, and he’s actually exceedingly handsome now that he’s not rocking the 90’s male lesbian haircut.

Giovanni Ribisi:

Again, I didn’t know that finding Giovanni attractive was weird until my mother pointed it out recently. I think I find it attractive when men talk like a developmentally delayed child.

And this last one… I shouldn’t tell you think last one, just like my father told me I shouldn’t tell anyone that I think the Olympics are boring, but here it is:

Steve Buscemi:

Now, I know why this is weird. It concerns me, actually. But he doesn’t look so bad in ‘Reservoir Dogs’ does he? I’m sorry, I’m trying to minimize this. I looked at his IMDB page to try and figure out where this vague crush originated from, and the only thing I can think of is it must have started about here:

He hosted when Third Eye Blind was the musical guest!! That must be it!


I’m a monster.

Gina and the Live Lip-Dub Proposal

Everyone is sooo into community theatre ac-torrr and die-rectorrr and all around Renaissance man, Isaac Lamb and the ‘world’s first’ live lipdub proposal. Okay, I get why it’s cute. They all seem like sweet people, and I’m not a complete monster… This is what white people do when they have a lot of time on their hands, and it’s fine.

I’m just not all that interested in the two people getting married… I mean… I found this:

That is Isaac and Amy in costume for the Lakewood Center’s production of City of Angels. I am now less invested in their happiness.

The real star of this video is Gina:

There’s not much info out there on Gi-Gi, but I think she must have choreographed the whole thing because she’s always in front and she’s got jazz hands for days. Bless this girl’s heart because Gina is giving it like this is a 2 o’clock matinee of Anything Goes and she’s going on for one of the Angels who got food poisoning at lunch.

I originally thought that Gina was the sister of the bride or groom because Isaac barely puts the ring on Amy’s finger before she jumps out of her final pose and invites herself into a three-way hug. Apparently she’s just a ‘close friend’ but I think that really means she’s the close musical theatre friend with no boundaries who likes to over share about her eating disorder loudly in the middle of Chili’s. And those are the best friends.

I will say this, though. With any luck, I have a thoughtful friend out there that will show this post to any man who threatens to propose to me (so hopefully this blog still exists in, like, 8-12 years). If he reads this I’d like him to know: I do not want to be involved in the world’s second live lip dub proposal. Or third or fourth. If you subject me to this I might still say yes, but just know if a flash mob is involved the answer is a flat no. Basically, stay away from anything that might produce a viral youtube video. Some additional tips would be don’t hide a ring in any sort of food or beverage, and I don’t want any animals involved, UNLESS you can train a small monkey to give me a ring OR teach a gorilla to sign ‘will you marry me?’ To be honest, I think we’ve just found the ideal way to propose to me and if Koko the Gorilla isn’t involved in some capacity, color me disappointed.

My actual favorite proposal video is from the Howie Mandel show about flash mobs (aptly named MOBBED) which is arguably the most underrated piece of television programming in history.

I encourage you to sit through the entire video- I promise it’s worth your time. If you don’t have an extra 15 minutes so your life can change and your eyes can open and you can smell colors and taste laughter, I’ll give you the highlights:

******SPOILER ALERT********

The video STARTS with her crying because she’s made to believe her boyfriend is cheating on her. It ENDS with her essentially being coerced into marrying him RIGHT THERE amongst her friends, family, and 200 of Los Angeles’s finest back up dancers. And somewhere in the middle are two separate flashmobs.

What little girl doesn’t dream of Howie Mandel having some sort of involvement in her wedding?