No charges have been levied against me, thus far.

II’ll be blunt here: it’s complete and utter bullshit when you promise a guy something, and then pull the rug out from under him. That goes for all things, sexual and non-sexual. If you’re going to offer me a steak dinner, make it for me, buy it for me, but follow through on your damn promise.

And it doesn’t help when you get drunk and spin the wheel of guys it’s fun to text naughty things to. You’re getting my hopes up, and then dashing them. Seriously, it’s like you’re showing me a delicious piece of cake, and then chaining up the fridge it’s in while dangling the key in front of me. It’s fucking cruel, and people have killed for less.

Now I have a solution to this, and I feel like every guy will back me up on this one: Wear a sign around your neck, on your head, your ass, wherever, that blatantly tells whether or not your open to the idea of even making out with me, let alone getting down. It will save everyone hours of  lifetime in which we could all be pursuing other activities. I could read more. I could write more. I could find a girl who’s much less complicated. It can be as simple as, “Yes, I’ll suck your dick,” or “No, I won’t suck your dick.” Nice and easy, right?

In short, ladies, stop acting like you have the fruit from the tree of knowledge in your pants, and we can have it, only to tell us it’s forbidden later on – that’s just bitchy. Don’t send me a text saying to call you next time I’m in town, cause I know you won’t answer. Stop sending me IMs about how we’re going to do it when you know we won’t. Don’t let me waste my time, because it’s more valuable than what you’re rating it.

(And no, I don’t want to be friends with you – cockteases are even less fun to be around when we know you’re teasing.)

Thanks,

Seriously, NYC

Now, we’ve all seen dating sites based on personal information (match.com), physical attractiveness (BeautifulPeople.com), hell, even marital status (AshleyMadison.com). Now, there’s one for salad topping preferences:

http://www.saladmatch.com

Is there anyone out there that can live up to my romaine, cucumber, carrots, green pepper, onion, celery,egg, and grilled chicken or turkey bacon, chopped and mixed with buttermilk ranch dressing? One can only hope…

• ‘Rompers’
• Gaucho Pants
• Leggings under skirts
• Gladiator sandals

Anything else I should be adding?

In the meantime, I’d like to just say it here: I’ve had more straight up-and-down awkward sex dreams this week. I don’t know if it’s the New York heatwave, too much Facebooking, or some recent dietary changes, but good lord, am I getting laid in my sleep.

To those of you that were in said dreams, you’re welcome. You were totally enjoying yourselves. Except for the one who was on top when an unnamed family member walked in. You enjoyed it until then (so did I), and then I woke up and immediately contemplated going to counseling for some severe issues.

My sisters need to stop having hot friends I’d like to nail. It will only serve to get me into deep, deep trouble.

Counterpoint:

But they’ve said it’s OK

Point:

That doesn’t make it any less creepy

Counterpoint:

…Agreed.

When you IM me and can’t really seem to wait to ask how my love life is, I already know you’re getting laid on the regular. So let’s just skip that part of the conversation, and make it easier on all of us.

Oh, and congratulations, or whatever it is that you want to hear.

Yep, I was obviously able to provide lots of insight on this one

While eventually things were at least partially ironed out, SKGF made a reference to my man-crush on NPH, and there was a threesome joke made from the roommate, and I made the TV-sitcom-staple, “I keep asking, you always say ‘no’” joke. The one that’s not funny, mostly ’cause it’s entirely true.

SKGF left to room to get something, and the roommate then said something to the effect of, “Man, I’d love to have two guys at once, again.”

To say that my reaction was to stare at her, eyebrow raised in a questioning manner, jaw agape, in complete disbelief, with the color gone from my face for a good 30-45 seconds might actually be underselling it.

Her reaction to my, “What the fuck?” face?

“I feel like that stuff only happens at [college she went to].”

Yeah, there. And porn sets.

Come on. Those things don’t really happen, do they? Am I really that naive? Is this because I don’t make it out to bars on weekends much? Is the frequency of the male tag-team higher than that of the M-F-F? What’s the protocol for eye contact? High-fiving? Does this girl have female friends in the city that aren’t busy at the moment?

It’s been a few hours since hearing this, and if it’s not quite obvious, my mind is still completely blown.

- Pocket the Fool, via Christopher Moore

It’s that time of year in the Northeast again; the girls are more plentiful and wearing shorter/tighter/less clothing. Happy Spring, everybody.

After a rather lengthy battle concerning the use of my home computer, which was covered in open porn, inappropriate conversations, and a lengthy internet history, I had to have a talk about my hesitance to let the sorta-kinda-gf get on there without my supervision. With me being at the office and her at my apartment, I gave her my keys and left myself SOL.

I mentioned to her one of the inappropriate conversations, which concerned her, and my growing concern about her evolving emotionally in the relationship much faster than I am. That turned into a much longer talk about the actual issue, and got me out of a potentially dangerous spot.

Call me an ass, an idiot, whatever. The truth of the matter is, I made a split-second decision without really thinking things out, and backed myself into a corner. I solved it as best I knew how, and in the end, addressed a rather serious situation.

And that’s not the point here.

The following day, I woke up to an e-mail from SKGF, in which she admitted that she’s in love with me, unlike any guy she dated previously, citing her smittenness, comfort, and general view of our future together involving children.

I’m not awake enough in the morning to actually comprehend most e-mails, but this one knocked the wind out of me before I had my first glass of O.J. Sweat, redness, the whole nine.

And then I re-read the last line about the ‘unborn children,’ and it hit me, even harder.

This is the worst April Fool’s day prank someone involved with me could actually play. Well done, but more of a Halloween scare tactic.