If 2006 was the tasty appetizer in our quest for love, then 2007 is the main dish ... a big ole 12-course meal that will either amply nourish our body and soul or cause us to vomit uncontrollably until we die. That's pleasant, Mercury.
But seriously, I'm quite excited about the new year. In a few months I'll be turning 27, which is a great age to be unless you ask Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin. And beyond that, I've just got a good feeling about the year, and this has nothing to do with the dork in my office that is signing all of his e-mails, "Happy 007." In a related story, there's no way he doesn't own every Goo Goo Dolls album.
Miami and I have a multiple prong attack for January and beyond. GF07 is a war of attrition, and we are locked and loaded for duty. I don't want to give away the details just yet, but be warned ladies. Our cunning good looks, sardonic wit and elegant gait may very well bring NYC to a standstill in 2K7.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to watch four hours of MTV's Next on my DVR. After that, I'll watch that show where you go on a date with a chick's mom, which is depressing for obvious reasons. Then I'll settle in for a Real World: Denver marathon and wonder if all chicks in Colorado are that slutty and bat-shit insane. Finally, I'll make a sandwich.
Yes, a busy day of research is upon me. Hope your Saturday afternoon will be as educational as mine.
DH
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6:56 AM
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Comments (52)vSaturday, December 30, 2006
Well, we're finally here. Midnight has struck kicking off December 31 and this is what we know.
Miami and I will be attending tomorrow night's New Year's festivities in the West Village as charming, dapper, single men. We will roll into our destination with a large group of male and female friends that include a equal mix of singles and couples. Let the record state that we won't be looking for girlfriend's tonight. Like batting Paul McCartney's wife cleanup in a kickball game, it would only serve as an exercise in futility. Instead, we'll imbibe spirits, dance to Michael Jackson singles and maybe get a kiss come midnight ... hopefully not from each other. We are gunning for a night of modest pleasures.
Is this the ideal scenario we drew up in the fall when plotting the specifics of GF07? Well, of course not. After all, the slogan of our blog is "Find girlfriends by New Year's Eve. Or else." (the "or else" being a bottle of Cuervo and a whole lot of dead hookers, by the way.) But as Miami eluded to in his previous post, what we've learned in this time is that neither of us are capable of settling on something as a matter of convienence. We definitely put in the effort to connect with something meaningful, but the promise rings didn't bounce our way this time around. I believe Chris Martin got it right when he said, "Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard."
But that's this whole relationship thing. It's really about the luck of the draw. Miami and I may not be getting the great hands right now, but we're in the game. This is an important distinction. You stay in the game long enough, and you play it right, you're going to go on that run. And when you find that monster hand, you bet big, cash out and ride into the sunset. If only the planning was as easy as the execution.
We've all had friends who have been hurt and sworn off relationships at some point -- you may even have been one of those jilted amigos -- but that's really counter-productive at the end of the day. You have to stay in the game, even when it's kicking your ass. And based on the great e-mails we've gotten from readers telling their own stories, asking for and offering advice, we know we're not alone in this. We're all in this weird and alluring twentysomething single life together, even if it seems like we're pulling in different directions most of the time. If you're sometimes frustrated or confused by your own situation, don't worry about it. We are too.
I think I'm invited to something like 412 weddings in 2007. "Cash bar" will surely replace "domestic terrorism" as the scariest phrase in my personal lexicon. More and more of my friends are settling down, buying condos and dogs and vacuums and expensive silverware, but we're not in that group just yet. So if you don't see Miami or I at any of those nuptials, look for the two guys staring down their latest hand at the poker table. The group around us may be shrinking but we remain undaunted, still trying to win the game.
Wish us luck.
DH
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8:05 PM
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Comments (9)vWednesday, December 27, 2006
When I was home for Christmas I had the following conversation with my 24-year-old sister.
SIS: My boyfriend Will is mad at me. ME: Why's that? SIS: Well, the other day I needed help hanging something up in my apartment so I called him. He said he was busy. So I called my ex-boyfriend Mark and he came over and helped me instead. I did it to make Will jealous. Hopefully he learned his lesson. ME: You're terrible. SIS: Nothing happened. He'll get over it. ME: I wouldn't put up with that. SIS: That's why you're single.
It took me a second, but as she was walking away and I was pitying the poor soul who had to put up with her, I realized she was right. Over the years I've become far more picky-- far more selective-- and my tolerance for bullshit has gotten smaller and smaller with every relationship I've had.
At 26-years-old I've had what I consider 5 "significant" relationships. These relationships varied in length from 7 months to 2 years, and each one included the exchange of those 3 little words (with varying degrees of emotion behind them, admittedly.) If I had to assign an adjective to each of them, in no particluar order I'd go with 2 "good" ones, 1 "great" one, 1 "incredible" one, and 1 "complete disaster." They were all completely different women and it'd be almost impossible to compare one relationship with the next-- however, they do have one thing in common: they all ended. Strangely, I consider that a good thing.
About a month after the conclusion of a relationship-- after all the crying, hating, reconciling, post-breakup sex, apologizing, hating again, jealousy, awkward "friendship" cups of coffee and finally acceptance-- it's time to evaluate the relationship. It's during this evaluation that you get to objectively look at your time together and come to a conclusion about what you liked, what you didn't like, and what you'll never ever put up with again. After my first breakup, I promised myself I'd never date another girl who didn't get along with my friends. Following my third breakup I swore of JAPpy girls with black BMW's. And at the conclusion of my fifth breakup I decided to never date another girl who could be classified as absolutely insane. It's kind of surprising that it took me 5 girls to get to that one, right?
Over the past 8 years I've said "not again" to girls who don't say "thank you," girls without their own friends, girls without girl friends, girls who never want to go out and girls who never want to stay in. With every relationship the list gets longer and longer... and that's probably why most of my friends are getting married and I'm the guy who opts against using his +1 at their weddings.
New Years Eve is 4 nights away. I'll be flying solo. Since we started GF'07 I've had 3 potential New Years dates. I chose not to pursue any of them. I don't have any good reasons why. I guess that one of the most important things I've learned over the years is that it doesn't make sense to date just anybody. My list of "not agains" is already long enough... I'm not in any rush to add another one before 2007.
So it's looking like another NYE with a group of friends and some mystery surrounding who, if anybody, I'll be kissing at midnight. Is this a result of me being too picky? I don't think so. I think it's a result of knowing what I want... or at least knowing what I don't want.
I'm getting there. I think.
b
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3:15 PM
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Comments (17)vWednesday, December 20, 2006
GF07: Hello Matthew, thank you for giving our Web log a moment of your busy schedule. How are you today?
MM: All right, all right, all right.
GF07: Great. The reason we wanted to meet with you is because I believe you can help us. As you may or may not know ...
MM: All right, all right, all right.
GF07: Um, right. Anyway, as you may or may not know, we're trying to find girlfriends in 2007, and seeing as you've starred in roughly 4,000 romantic comedies during your career, we figure you're an ideal source of information on the female species.
MM: Have I been in that many? What they call those pictures, chicken flicks? GF07: I believe you're thinking chick flicks.
MM: All right, all right. Yeah, chick flicks. That's funny.
GF07: Yes, I suppose it is.
MM: I wish I could tell you my motivation for being in those films, but the last 10 years have been a blur to be honest, what with all the pot, surfing, bongos and sex with 12's. I was biking through the Hollywood hills the other day with Jake the Snake (actor Jake Gyllenhaal) and he mentioned I was in a sports gambling movie with Al Pacino last year. I was like, "Really? THE Al Pacino? Dang! Was the movie any good?"
GF07: No.
MM: Yeah, that's what Snake said, too. No biggie, you know?
GF07: But about the romantic comedies ...
MM: The chicken flicks? GF07: The chick flicks.
MM: All right, all right, all right. Yeah, my agent said it's important to do them because I'm pretty and what not, but to be honest I'm just kind of in auto-pilot during the whole process.
GF: How so?
MM: I don't read the scripts or nothing. I have PA's fill out hundreds of cue cards and I just bluff my way through the whole thing. Finally, I kiss the girlie at the end. It's easy as Mama's apple pie.
GF07: Interesting. Going down the list, you've been the leading man in "Failure to Launch" with Sarah Jessica Parker ...
MM: MOLE! (hysterical laughter)
GF07: "How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days" with Kate Hudson ...
MM: CARPENTER'S DREAM! (lights up joint, cackles wildly)
GF07: "The Wedding Planner" with Jennifer Lopez ...
MM: ASS ALERT! (exhales, chokes on smoke as tears run down face) GF07: And I see you have film in pre-production called "Ghosts of Girlfriend's Past." MM: Really? Another one? I hope Lance-Bone (cyclist Lance Armstrong) doesn't think I'm some sort of fairy.
GF07: I'm sure he doesn't judge you.
MM: He better not. I have a whole list of one-nut jokes ready if that boy ever crosses me. Don't mess with Texas!
GF07: Wow.
MM: What ... do you have one?
GF07: One what?
MM: A nut joke?
GF07: Sorry. Fresh out.
MM: Don't worry about it. Here's one for your own personal use: Who would give their left ball to win the Tour De France? GF07: Lance Armstrong?
MM: Damn, you're good boy! A girl would be lucky to have you! (gives me Texas Longhorn finger salute)
GF07: Um, thanks. But back to the point.
MM: Okay. GF07: In these films you tend to play the aloof and irresponsible playboy who eventually falls for, and is eventually reigned in, by his true love. Going under the assumption that these screenplays are written with the female perspective in mind, do you think that women are looking for a wild "bad boy" type that they can tame in the end? Do women need that challenge?
MM: To be honest man, being a former People magazine "Sexiest Man Alive" gives me slack that not many cats have. Rules don't really apply to me. I'm Matt McCaughney. I just keep on livin', you know?
GF07: I hear you. But if you weren't who you are, do you believe women welcome that obstacle to mold a man to their liking as opposed to letting him be who he is, warts and all? MM: I reckon that's a case-by-case scenario my friend. Have you ever seen "Dazed and Confused?" GF07: Of course. Funny movie. You were great in it. MM: I was in that?
GF07: ... MM: I'm just kidding. (He's not.)
GF07: Well, since you brought up, you have a line in that movie ... you know, because you were in it ...
MM: (Still perplexed) All right, all right, all right.
GF07: Your character, Wooderson, discusses his affinity for younger women: "That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age." Do you think there's any truth to that on a larger scale? Do many twenty-something males get stuck in a suspended adolescence that they need to be forcibly pulled out of for their own good?
MM: I suppose there's truth to that, man. Listen, I gotta grab my pooch and hit up some toasty waves. I really wish you cats luck. Come by for some naked bongo lessons any time you want.
GF07: Um, okay. We'll be in touch.
MM: All right, all right, all right.
DH
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9:12 AM
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Comments (2)vFriday, December 15, 2006
In my life, I hold the following truths to be self-evident:
1) O.J. killed those two people 2) Stacy Corosi took Zack Morris' V-card during the Malibu Sands summer season 3) New Year's Eve is about as cool as Wrangler jeans
While the first two points don't need much explanation -- Nordberg definitely iced those cats and everybody knows Kelly didn't start giving it up until she got implants and moved to 90210 -- I feel that my unhappiness with the last day of the calendar year deserves deeper insight.
On the surface, there's no reason to hate on the day, er, night. Everyone goes out to party, it's funny to ridicule the idiots who wear those stupid novelty sunglasses, and everybody -- man and woman -- is focused on making out at the stroke of midnight. What's not to like, right? Oh, but New Year's, she is a deceiving temptress.
Despite the supposed advantages (listed above), no night on the social calendar has more built-in pressure and expectations. You fret for months in advance about where to go, and when you finally decide on a place (typically an "open bar" where 300 people are packed into a 150-capacity establishment) you gasp for oxygen, eat stale nacho chips, and wait in lines six-deep to pop an Amstel Light. This is no way to live.
And let's not forget about the added pressures that come with being single when the night begins. You can try to play it all Fonzie-like and say, "I don't need to kiss someone at midnight ... I'm strong." But you're not. As much as you try to play it off, nobody likes to do friendship hugs at midnight. Nobody. And even the people who find someone to makeout with usually lose -- pulling a panic move and settling on Bea Arthur and Paul Pheiffer clones. It is a circus of the grotesque.
In fact, New Year's Eve is kind of how I remember Cancun. Me and my buddies went there in 2001, and I recall being profoundly disturbed by the whole thing. We were blackmailed by the natives constantly, our hotel room had cockroaches the size of cats, we saw some random chick from our high school in a wet t-shirt contest (uncommmmfortablllle), and at every club we went to, a bunch of three-foot Mexican dudes scurried at our feets taking upskirt shots of the white girls. It was mostly dumb. But the worst aspect of the trip was the meat market of each destination, where the ratio of dudes to chick was 3:1. New Year's isn't much different in this aspect, and I'm totally not into cock battles at this stage of my life. New Year's is basically Cancun without the whorish water competitions and midget natives. So there.
To help get me through the festivities this year, I've decided to initiate a countdown of my own. I will be out of this New Year's racket (did I just use the word "racket"?) by the age of 30. I'm 26 now, and regardless of my position in life (single/married/slaughtered by a satanic GF07 candidate), I'm pulling the plug when my 20s come to an end. I'm done. I'm out. You won't have old Mercury to kick around no more.
So while everyone is watching the ball drop, and Ryan Seacrest is making out with Clay Aiken, and Dick Clark is being unplugged and rolled back to his cryogenic chamber, I won't be celebrating 2007. I'll be celebrating 3. Three and counting. Until then, I must grit my teeth and make it through "the biggest party night of the year."
This is no way to live.
DH
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9:41 AM
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Comments (7)vTuesday, December 12, 2006
It's not my fault that I'm single. It's Natalie Portman's.
The first time I saw the movie Garden State I left disappointed. Not because it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and not because that Shins song failed to change my life (as promised), but because it made me come to grips with the fact that I didn't have any Natalie Portmans in my life. And Natalie Portmans are damn hard to come by.
Hollywood has a tendency to create female characters who make it nearly impossible to ever be truly satisfied with real women. Because not only do these women tend to be beyond beautiful on the outside, but they're always unbelievable on the inside too. They're cool. They're fun. They always know what to say. And they always have that one little thing that makes you fall in love with them. Maybe it's because they usually have guys writing their lines and making them perfect, but either way they're a tough act to follow. Here are ten women who make it difficult to date real women. Whether they meant to or not.
Sam, Garden State
Every man on the planet who wasn't a Star Wars geek and therefore wasn't already in love with Natalie Portman when Garden State came out in 2004 fell in love with her within 5 minutes of seeing her on screen. Adorable, optimistic, and just quirkly enough without being too quirky (and by association, annoying), Sam took care of Zach Braff because he needed her to. But at the same time, it's obvious that she needs to be taken care of too. It's that dichotomy of her motherly instincts and her vulnerability that makes a guy want to stick around a girl like Sam. Even if she does have to wear a helmet sometimes.
Danielle, The Girl Next Door
Ok, so she was an ex-porn star-- but she was an ex-porn star with a heart of gold! Despite the fact that a guy knows he'd have to spend the rest of his life alongside a woman who effed on camera, we'd still kill for a girl like Danielle. Why? Because she fell for the dork. She made him a better person. And oh yeah, she was sexy to boot. Whoever wrote that movie knew exactly what they were doing when they had Elisha messing with her future bf throughout the first act. We're okay with making fools of ourselves as long as you're laughing with us, not at us. We secretly love that stuff.
Mary Jensen, There's Something About Mary
Ok, this one wasn't fair. When the Farrelly brothers were writing TSAM, they set out to create the perfect female. The beautiful-but-down-to-Earth girl with the great job who likes watching football, hitting golf balls, helping the less fortunate and who just wants to be with a nice guy. Casting Cameron Diaz (before she was annoying) was the final nail in the coffin. A friend of mine told me that after seeing this movie in high school with his girlfriend, she burst into tears on the car ride home. Her reason: She'd never be able to be like Mary. That's why I almost feel bad including her on this list. Let's just move on.
Ali Mills, The Karate Kid
She's the one on the right.
Even though Daniel-son nearly got murdered for talking to her, Ali ("with an I") was certainly worth fighting for. Just like Danielle in The Girl Next Door, Ali fell for a loser and automatically endeared herself to every dorky guy watching. It was upsetting seeing Daniel move on so quickly in Karate Kid II, but I guess you can't expect the reigning All-Valley Karate Tournament Champion to settle down. I mean, he was All-Valley! That's like, the entire valley! No wonder he left her.
Every female who's ever been onEntourage
Alright, I'll admit it: this one is more physical than anything else. But have you noticed that every single woman who gets within 30 feet of Vinnie Chase is absolutely perfect? Everyone from Sloan to Sloan's 3-some friend to the blonde girl in Aspen who hooked up with Johnny Drama and Turtle: they're all gorgeous, and, surprisingly cool. Throw in Samaire Armstrong, Vanessa Angel, Mandy Moore and dozens of other nameless girlfriends and cohorts and you have 4 guys living the perfect life. Guys don't watch Entourage to see the house.
Jane Weston, Outside Providence
Who wouldn't want to smoke pot and hang around with Amy Smart all day? You show me man who says he wouldn't, and I'll show you a terrorist. And then I'll call the police and report him because I just don't trust those people
Marta #1, Arrested Development
On a show full of screw ups and idiots, Marta was the one person who was actually likeable. She was so great, you rooted for her to dump GOB and get with his brother Michael. There aren't many women who are amazing enough to make you want her to leave somebody and get with his brother, but she was. I blame Arrested Development's eventual cancellation on the decision to replace the original with a less attractive actress. Inexcusable.
Lucy Diamond Dawson, I Am Sam
Oh come on, like you weren't thinking it.
Terry Griffith, Just One Of The Guys
Smart? Check. Talented? Check. Incredible breasts that are revealed during the climatic prom scene? Check and check. Even though she spent the majority of Just One Of The Guys looking like and acting like a dude, it was hard not to fall for Terry. She was a take-charge chick who was determined to be taken seriously, and that determination was incredibly attractive. Plus, every guy on the planet wants his best friend to someday reveal that he's actually a woman and he's madly in love with him. Um... right? Right? This is awkward.
Beth Wagner, Road Trip
She's the aggressor, she's up for videotaping sexcapades and she's willing to call in a bomb threat to help her man out: that's our kind of woman. And also, she's Amy Smart. That helps too.
You see, the thing Beth has in common with the rest of the characters on this list is the fact that she's accessible but shouldn't be. She falls for the dorky guy when she should be going for the football players. She's funny, she's sexy, she's warmhearted, she's a good person and above all-- she's available.
Thanks for all the Beth Wagners, Hollywood. You're making this way harder than it should be.
I grew up in a home where I heard four musical artists almost exclusively throughout my formative years. I'm not even remotely kidding about this. Two of them -- horrific freak crooner Barry Manilow and 70s folk siren Carley Simon -- were Mom favorites that I successfully managed to tune out before permanent damage could be done. The other two were the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. You may have heard of them.
There is a popular theory about the latter two super groups that I happen to put a lot of faith into. It goes something like this: Everyone in the world can be divided into one of two categories. You're either a "Stones Person" -- which amounts to a kind of free-wheeling, outgoing and impulsive extrovert type -- or you're a "Beatles Person" -- a slightly more introspective and thoughtful brand of human, free in mind, body and spirit. Of course, I'm not sure you can divide all people like this -- it's doubtful a suicide bomber on the Gaza Strip is likely to side with either Mick or Macca on matters of the heart -- but it holds true more often than not. The beauty of this breakdown is that you don't have to be a fan of either group to be part of this study -- although it's a serious red flag to me if you don't like at least some tunes by either band. I mean, c'mon. Not sure what category you fall into? Luckily I have a simple and effective test to determine just that.
Listen to the The Beatles' "Let It Be" -- off the 1970 album of the same name -- and the Stones' "Gimme Shelter" -- off 1969's Let It Bleed. I mean really listen to them. Dissect the lyrics, soak in the melodies, get lost in the atmosphere. Which of these songs grab you first? Which one changes the temperature of the room? When you figure that out, you have your answer.
A closer look at the two songs helps to explain why. The menace in Mick Jagger's voice is palpable in "Gimme Shelter," telling the story of a dark cultural acopolyse that's "just a shot away" with the opposite spectrum of love and peace "just a kiss away." It's a chaotic world teetering on the brink. The lyric and melody cuts a direct correlation into the unpredictable nature of a Stones Person. "Let It Be," written and sung by Paul McCartney, is a deeply personal gospel-like tune with a theme centering on the loss of a love in your life and how that figure endures as you move on. That's how I hear it anyway. Over a soft piano intro, Macca croons, "When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom ... Let it be." I've never written a song, but just typing that made me jealous. I can only imagine how the lead singer of Hinder feels. Upon closer review, the vulnerable nature of "Let It Be" draws a connection to the dreamy and reflective nature of the Beatles Person.
Personally speaking, I think deep down I always wanted to be a Stones Person at heart, but in the end I became a product of Beatlemania ... with sprinkles of Keith Richards. You can't choose where you end up. It's in your DNA.
Now you may be inclined to ask, "Hey Mercury, ye of the shocking social insight, steep intellect, generous looks, and incredibly large hands, can a Beatles/Stones love combo make it in the longterm?"
The answer is ... yes. In fact, the argument can be made that Beatles/Stones combinations make the best partners, as the relationship will be more dynamic and encompassing in scope. The worst all-Beatles pairings can develop into that boring married and/or engaged couple (you know who they are) who watch "The Horse Whisperer" on Friday nights and attend way more garage sales that common logic should dictate. On the flipside, two Stones people gone bad can be mired in one of those explosive relationships where the couple basically do two things: Fight and fuck. This is entertaining at first to outsiders (hilarious even), but it grows old ... quickly.
That said, it's important to note that all Stones People are not whiskey-guzzling, smack-shooting, mass impregnators and walking semen dumpsters. Nor or all Beatles People stoner hippies, bizarre zealots, and doughy peaceniks. Let's try to keep that in mind.
Chances are, you've dated both Beatles People and Stones People. Think back to your ex's and I'm sure you can divide them right now without much of a problem. Hopefully, a pattern emerges. Your more lasting relationships will likely fall into one category or the other. Remember that in the future as you navigate the Highway of Musical Love (it's Exit 12 off the Hutch).
And with that, I'm going to grab a Gatorade and watch some bad Court TV murder mystery programming. I'll worry about this whole "Find-a-girlfriend-at-all-costs" thang tomorrow. Until then, let it be.
Yeah, I'm a Beatles guy all the way.
DH
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5:20 PM
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Comments (9)vSunday, December 03, 2006
Normally when a girl asks the question "So, how come you never called me?" it's time to panic. It's time to refer to your list of excuses and carefully choose which one to go with. You could hope for the best with the time-tested classic sorry, I lost your number, attempt to fake confusion with the I thought you were going to call me! excuse, or try to throw her for a loop with a I DID call you and left you a message. You never called me back! misdirection. Maybe it'll work and maybe it won't, but either way it's probably better than telling her the truth. Because the truth hurts... not as much as a slap across the face or a knee to the balls, but it hurts.
Well, last night when I was asked that question by a beautiful brunette with blue eyes from this summer I surprised myself with the answer: I really wanted to... but I screwed up.
It was the truth. Jennifer (not her real name) was great. We met one night through mutual friends, immediately hit it off, talked until 5 in the morning and ended the night with a kiss and the promise we'd hang out soon. I meant it too-- that's the "I really wanted to" part. Now here's the screw up. Jennifer was spending the summer out of town. A teacher during the school year, she was working a summer job at a beach town with a couple of friends. So when Jennifer said goodbye to me that night, she was also saying goodbye to New York for another three or four weeks. I didn't think much of it at the time-- I was all ready to call her (after the customary 3-5 days, of course) and make plans to hang out. But I didn't.
I started overthinking things. I talked myself out of calling her; why call if we're not going to be able to hang out? Maybe I should wait until she got back so a call would lead to a night out together rather than awkward weekly cell phone conversations. So I didn't call. I waited. And of course, while I was waiting she started seeing somebody. Who? We'll get to that.
Flash forward to Saturday night. We're out in the east village when my friends inform me that Jennifer will be meeting up. Since we haven't seen one another since the summer I'm excited (and nervous) to see what happens. I really have no clue what to expect. And to make things even more interesting, I'm told that Jennifer and her summer dude are no longer an item. In an effort to speed this story along, let's cut to the play by play:
Uncomfortable hello - amstel light - great conversation - amstel light - her question - my answer - more great conversation (and amstel lights) - another kiss - another number exchange - another promise to call.
And we're back.
When we said goodbye I told Jennifer that I was going to call her today-- I was going to waive the 3-5 day waiting period and call her Sunday instead. She laughed, probably unsure as to whether or not she should trust me. Well, now it's Sunday night, and guess what? I called her. And we were on the phone for nearly an hour. And it was great. And we have plans to hang out this week. So I should be feeling great right now, right? Right? Well. Here's the thing:
Remember how I told you Jennifer was seeing somebody this summer? Of course. Well, that someone wasn't just anyone-- he was a New York Giant. An NFL football player. A professional athlete.
Me? Well, I'm not a professional athlete. But I am a Giants fan who has little in common with the 6'3" muscular African American men who make millions of dollars beating the shit out of each other week after week. I'm not sure if I can follow that. But I guess there's only one way to find out.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to hit the gym... for 36 straight hours.
Hey there! How are you? I hope you're enjoying the beginning of the holiday season. I certainly am. I started my shopping early this year, as there are many gifts to purchase for my loved ones and much good cheer to spread throughout our fair city. There's no place quite like New York during the holiday season, don't you agree? I love this time of year, it makes me so grateful for all that I have in my life. And I have so much to be grateful for. I really couldn't ask for anything else. Nothing at all.
Well, that's kind of a white lie. A White Christmas lie, so to speak.
Let me be straight with you. I don't want to come off as rude -- and I'm certainly not trying to rush you -- but I was just wondering about something so I'm just going to come out and say it. Where are you?
Because the one thing I am missing is you, my love. Is it weird that I said "love?" Am I creepy? People in white lab coats should put me in a strait jacket and jolt me with one of those tasers, right? I wonder how much a taser would hurt? These are the times when having an uncle from the local trailer park would have been fantastic. "Uncle Cleto, when they popped you with a stun gun on COPS for throwing Aunt Mae through the fishtank, did it hurt? Also, is there a tangible difference between venison and chicken?"
I'm getting off topic here. Focus.
I love Christmas music. But Christmas songs aren't nearly as good without someone to sing them with, you know? I crave a tree -- a real tree, not those fake monstrosities that merely look like trees -- a tall and handsome spruce that we'd decorate while sipping spiked egg nog. A little tipsy, we'd belt out Bono's line from "Do They Know It's Christmas?". You know the line, right? Of course you do ... we're soulmates! Let's sing it together on the count of three. 1 ... 2 ... 3! "Wellll tonight thank God it's them insteaaad of YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!" We'd both crack up as we strain to match the B-Man's mighty tenor. Oh, how we would laugh!
So yes, I'm having trouble being patient. New Year's Eve is right around the corner and it would be a shame if we were alone when the clock struck midnight. Even worse, we could be with the wrong person -- you winding up pregnant, me with a VD. Why risk such nonsense? Let's make a deal: No effing on New Year's. Let's make second base the cutoff point. Fair? Okaaaaay ... sloppy second. I'm all about compromise.
Of course, that raises the most important question: How will we know when we finally meet? I was kind of counting on a Adam Sandler in "The Wedding Singer"-type scenario, whereby I'd see you and immediately know. That'd be pretty dope if you looked like Drew Barrymore, by the way. I bet you're totally foxy. Our kids are going to be super hot. Good ballplayers, too.
But since "love at first sight" is speculative at best, I have a contigency plan. From now until Jan. 1, I will wear a red top hat at all times ... a red top hat with a tremendously exaggerated feather jutting from the brim. It will be awesome. Passersby will ask me why I'm wearing this odd and oft outfit-clashing accessory, and I'll simply respond, "Smell ya later." Nothing more, nothing less. THEY don't deserve to know. This is OUR secret. Lovers have secrets. And that's what we are.
Well not yet, but soon enough my love. Soon enough.
Sincerely, Your future No. 1
DH
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1:38 PM
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Comments (16)vFriday, December 01, 2006
I was watching "Indecent Proposal" on cable the other night. It was like 3 a.m. and I had work the next day, but for some reason I needed to find out if Demi Moore would choose affable high school sweetheart Woody Harrelson or dashing billionaire Robert Redford in the end. I really do need a girlfriend.
Anyway, in reality, this would be a very easy question to answer ... even if you factor in the bizzare period between 1992 and 1995 when Harrelson was universally viewed as a master thespian. In the movie, Woody plays a talented architect who loves to look at buildings in his spare time to "soak in their beauty" or whatevs. In one montage scene, he stares at a car wash while gesturing wildly to Moore. It was stupid. Redford, meanwhile, is a perfect man from what I can gather. He owns his own yacht and heliocopter, and though it is never specified what he exactly does for a living, it is to be deduced that the lonely playboy has more money than he knows what to do with. Did I mention he has a much older man servant? Well, he does, which is saying something since Redford was about 93 at the time and had a face like a T-Birds jacket. The crux of the film -- the indecent proposal if you will -- arrives when Redford proposes a $1 million payday to Moore and Woody in exchange for a night with the suddenly buxom Brat Packer. (Demi had just stuffed massive breast implants into her chest, and was generally considered wildly foxy by conventional standards). The young couple reluctantly agrees -- we are led to believe they are having some real estate-related financial issues -- and you can guess what happens next. Redford pops a few Blue Bombers, taps GI Jane, which is quickly followed by jealousy and trust issues that destroy the young couple's marriage sending Moore tumbling into Redford's arthritis-laced arms. It also didn't help that the friendly and well-meaning billionaire was ROBERT FRIGGIN' REDFORD.
Long story short, Demi leaves Woody for Redford, but then Woody eventually wins back Demi's affection by buying a seal (correction: hippo) at an auction for -- wait for it -- ONE MILLION DOLLARS. The hippo has meaning and context to the film, but it's mostly dumb. It's really stupid actually. Just like the movie. I loved it.
Now how does this tie into finding a girlfriend for 2007? Hmmmmmm. I could say that the film draws parallels to my own life and my questions of whether women are looking for love or money in a mate. Or I could say that your choice between the safe and loving Woody and the successful and dashing Big Red goes a long way in determining what kind of girl you are. But mostly my point is that I'm the type of guy who likes to watch bad movies from the 90s because it's fun to do so. I'm looking for the type of girl that likes to do the same thing. We'd watch these dumb movies, drink a bottle of wine and then take each others clothes off when the credits came up.
I don't have a million bucks, but I do have decent proposals.
DH
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10:15 AM
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Comments (47)vFriday, October 20, 2006
I think I have stronger feelings towards this amazingly cheesy video from the 80's than I do any of the girls I've met in the past couple of months. That can't be a good sign.
My date Monday night? Well... there's really not much to report. It was pretty middle of the road- not a bad date, not a good date... not much of anything. We got along, the conversation flowed, we made each other laugh, we flirted a bit... but in the end, the whole thing was pretty lackluster. It kind of felt like sitting through a 3 1/2 hour horror movie only to discover that the killer was who you thought it'd be the whole time. Like, "Oh... that's it? Okay." Does that make any sense?
This weekend Mercury and I are really getting a start on GF'07. We've both been really busy at work, so GF'07-- the blog & the mission-- has kind of stalled. It's time to kick it into high gear. The clock is ticking.
No more time for bad horror movie dates. Let's get this ball rolling.
b
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10:21 AM
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Comments (14)vMonday, October 16, 2006
Normally I wouldn't sweat this. Meeting a girl for drinks on a Monday night after playing phone tag for a week usually wouldn't constitute as that big of a deal. However, seeing as how we have officially entered mid-October and the goal is to have a real life girlfriend by 2007, this casual plan to meet at a bar and get to know one another has been upgraded to 'the single most important date of my entire adult life.'
That's not good.
I'm beginning to worry about how GF'07 is going to affect my dating life (Note: When I refer to GF'07 I'm not referring to the blog you're reading right now-- I'm talking about the actual plan to have a girlfriend by NYE. Just want to make sure that's clear.) In some ways, this whole thing has been great. It's forced me to open my eyes a little wider and it's forced me to try harder. In a good way. So far.
There's a difference between the Good Trying Too Hard and the Bad Trying Too Hard. The Good TTH depends on keeping an open mind. Being more willing to approach certain girls, examine more options and try things you normally wouldn't in an effort to meet new people. All positive things. The Bad TTH, though... oh boy. The Bad TTH is just awful. Completely awful.
Every guy has tried too hard at some point in their lives. It's usually in high school and it usually involves poems, flowers, and an awkward phone call about your feelings. *Shudder*. Most guys learn from this and outgrow it. The guys who don't are the ones who provide your female friends stories that end with you responding "Oh my God, what the hell is WRONG with that guy??? He's a stalker!" Nobody wants to be that guy.
Post-college, I think I've done a pretty good job of never trying too hard (and I'm sure there are a couple of women in NY who would consider that a huge understatement.) I've kind of bounced around from relationship to relationship and from hook-up to hook-up without seeming desperate and without showing my hand all too often. Oh, and I haven't written a single poem. Not one. Well, not one that I'd admit to.
But now... now I have GF'07. Now I'm trying hard again. If it weren't for GF'07 I might not have ever set up this date. That's good TTH. But if I find myself appearing a little too anxious, a little too eager, and putting a little too much effort into this, I'll know I'll have slipped into the bad zone. The bad TTH. I'm playing with fire here.
I'll let you know how it goes. Hey, it's the single most important date of my entire adult life. What could possibly go wrong?
b
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2:19 PM
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Comments (1)vFriday, October 13, 2006
So I was surfing the Web like a complete and utter dork on Wednesday afternoon when I received a curious instant message. It was from a woman I had never met, and she was quite forward about getting to know me. I was suspicious from the start, but after a few minutes of banal conversation, I had learned that she was a college friend of a close buddy of mine who had seen my MySpace profile and wanted to meet me. I love the Internet.
And since she saw my profile, you could guess what I did next -- quickly minimizing the IM box to search out her photo on my buddy’s friend list. I’d say this makes me a shallow dirtbag of sorts, but you’d do the same thing, right? Right?
So I found her, and much to my surprise, she wasn’t a demented mongoloid. In fact, she wasn’t bad at all. And now we’re going out next Thursday. This is what the humans call "a date." Naturally, this is a productive development towards the end goal of this Web log.
But it was only after I finished speaking with her that I closely examined her profile. I think she may be nuts. Here’s the thing about MySpace which really bothers me. If you were to read my profile, I'd like to think you get an idea of what the ingredients are, but not the main dish. Unfortunately, many people tend to reveal FAR too much about themselves in their personal profiles. And my pending date is no different. Check out a couple of these gems:
About me: I am 24 and live in NYC. I miss all my friends and family … I am looking to have some fun and meet lots of people. ; ) Particularly those of the male species.
Ummm ... okay. She follows this with a 57-part questionnaire –- no joke, I actually counted –- explaining everything I would ever want (and not want) to know. I’ve culled three from the list which are alarming to say the least.
Your Weakness: Men
Your Fears: Being alone, being bored
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Lose weight, meet a nice guy and settle down
This girl is not just looking for a man ... she is HUNTING for one. I feel like I’ve been cast in "The Most Dangerous Game." I’ll go though, partly because I shouldn't judge someone on a computer screen, partly because she could be a fun time, but mostly because it will be something fun to write about next week.
And if you don’t hear back from me, assume she ate me following a mating session. Tell my mother I love her. Stay tuned.
***UPDATE: She was nuts. Horrible kisser, too. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.***
DH
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3:42 PM
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Comments (9)vMonday, October 09, 2006
I consider myself an optimistic dude. I have found in my 26 years of existence that if I put my mind to something, I usually attain favorable results. Take this Web log for instance. It's not that I think this blog may be successful in fulfilling my New Year's and beyond, I know it will be. I can also make stuff float.
So with that said, I've been wondering when I'm going to tell my future girlfriend about this curious blog endeavor. Because I will eventually tell her. I'm not a good "secret guy." I was a journalism major, so it's in my nature to unearth information and then disseminate it to the world for digestion. Of course, this info isn't typically Area 51 stuff – it usually pertains to a friend hooking up with a 250-pound retarded woman or a college roommate who farts when they're nervous ... things like that. I will tell my other friends about such information … and we will share deep and extended laughter before discussing whether or not Jessica from "Laguna Beach" is doomed to a lifetime of back pain.
Will she be angry when I tell her? I think it all depends on when I spill the beans.
Of course, the optimal scenario is that my girlfriend became aware of my existence through this blog … that would be highly convenient. I like convenience. I'm a huge microwave fan. And if she's an avid reader of this Web log – and I know you're out there darling – she'll understand what our intentions were from the start. (For the record, they are incredibly noble as far as I can tell.) But if she has no idea that this blog exists, I can foresee an unfortunate scenario whereby I could be painted as "creepy", or "desperate", or "insane." These are ugly words that should remain adjectives for my ex-girlfriend in Hoboken, the aptly named Crazy Nicole.
The timing is vital here, and I plan to discuss this at length with Miami. I can't wait too long, making it the 800-pound Retarded Woman in the room. I was thinking maybe telling her in the time between Dick Clark ringing in New Year's and Dick Clark being stuffed back into the cryogenic chamber by ABC (it's an 11-minute window), but that may ruin the night and I don't want to risk that. So right now I'm leaning towards my birthday. It will be April by then, and we'll both be really drunk (and in love, hypothetically) and if I kind of slip the confession in there between Patron shots it could possibly be good times. She'll either forget about it, assume I was joking, or write it off as me speaking some type of tequila-induced gibberish. Man, this night sounds fun. I love birthdays.
DH
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10:58 PM
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Comments (2)v
It was Friday night and we were drunk (yes, I realize that statement is a bit redundant; of course we drunk on a Friday night). We were dancing. Arms wrapped around one another, legs intertwined, and swaying back and forth to a modern day hip-hop track. Probably "Gold Digger". As we spun in tight circles and our faces got closer and closer a kiss was inevitable. When our lips finally met we didn't break stride, and we didn't care about the plethora of people surrounding us. And that's when she lost everything.
No, I'm not talking about her direction in life, her ability to think rationally or her potential for greatness. I'm talking about her wallet, her cell phone, and her digital camera.
Somehow, during our brief make-out session, somebody unzipped the purse that was hanging down from her wrist and removed the majority of its contents. Wallet. Cell phone. Camera. Hundreds of dollars worth of electronic equipment and a handful of credit and ID cards that had to be cancelled. I felt terrible. Not just because she lost everything she was carrying that night... but because this is the SECOND TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ME!
That's right. This is the SECOND time a girl has been pick pocketed while making out with me. What are the f'ing odds??? I don't know anybody else who has ever gone through this once, let alone twice. If it happens again I'll probably be put on some sort of watchlist.
Needless to say, one's night tends to come to a crashing halt once calls to credit card companies are being made and police reports are being filed. After standing by her side and scouring the empty bar following Last Call we said goodnight and went our separate ways. On my walk home I tried to draw conclusions as to how this could've possibly happened again. Was I bad luck? When shady people see me kissing cute girls in bars, do they have some sort of sixth sense that lets them know they could mug them? I had to ask myself; am I... cursed? I pondered that for a bit before it dawned on me. No way. I'm not cursed at all, dammit. Two girls losing everything because I held them close and pressed my lips against theirs... the answer is obvious:
I must be an AWESOME kisser.
Case closed.
b
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3:00 PM
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Comments (3)vTuesday, October 03, 2006
FROM: Our_Friend@gmail.com TO: Everybody SUBJECT: New Year's In Vermont?
Friends: New Year's sucks. We all know this. But it's time to make a stand. Instead of spending too much money to be crammed into a tiny bar with too many people, who would be down to rent a huge house in Vermont for a couple days of skiing, boozing, effing, and more boozing?
If we manage to get together a good group of people the trip would very inexpensive, and a whole lot of FUN! (80s guitar squeal) Greg will be doing some research to work up numbers, but just as a rough headcount, who would be interested in this? Let us know by the end of the week so we can get the ball rolling.
And just like that, things have gotten real.
We're just 2 months, 28 days and 5 hours away from 2007 (I know this because of the countdown clock we have on our MySpace page, naturally). It's time to get serious.
People have asked us how we intend on finding girlfriends in time for NYE. We have a plan. We are going to exhaust EVERY possible way. You name it, we're going to try it. We're going to go on blind dates, we're going to speed date, we're going to online date. We're going to MySpace message people and we're going to look for matches on Match.com. We're going to seek advice from psychics, good friends and ex-girlfriends... well, the ones that still talk to us. We're going to start approaching more women at bars. More women at Starbucks. More on the street. More at museums and book stores-- oh yeah, we're going to go to museums and book stores. We're going to take suggestions from you, our readers, and we're going to give nothing less than 100% the whole time. Jesus, I just felt inspired writing that!
The clock is ticking. GF'07 is in full effect. The question is: Do you believe?
b
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8:34 AM
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Comments (12)vThursday, September 28, 2006
While Miami and I were roaming the island the other night, we touched on a number of topics, none of which would be regarded as “relevant” per se (this is often the case), but all that remained interesting on one level or another – to us anyway.
One such conversation piece revolved around what was our preferred type of woman. I think we discussed this in earnest for 3-4 minutes before engaging in wholly serious debate whether or not 90s WWF superstar Tatanka was actually Native American.
But the conversation got me thinking. The long-standing idea is that everyone has a “type.” Blonde women, brunette women, redhead women, tall women, short women, petite women, large women, big-breasted women, badonkadonk women, women who aren’t really women, et al.
And since this is a web log about finding women -- and honoring them (Product Pitch!) -- on the surface I suppose it makes sense that Miami and I at least try to explain what we were looking for. Which on the surface would make sense -– if I actually believed it.
The truth is, I don’t know if I truly have a type anymore. I’ve always thought I did, but in the context of our current situation, the whole thing seems kind of silly now. It’s supreme tunnel vision –- and it’s exactly the type of attitude that will have me sitting alone at a picturesque ski lodge in beautiful snowy Vermont in front a warm fireplace with a hot chocolate in my hand and a handsome smile on my face humming familiar tunes and sharing stories that last a lifetime in a weekend that we never want to end (More Latently Obvious Product Pitch!).
Anyway, my point is this. I don’t have a type. Well, I did. But not anymore. No barriers. And if that doesn’t make any sense to you, then I’m not your dude.
But if it does, well maybe we’re onto something little lady. And if you’re a five-foot-three redhead with an ample bosom and kind eyes, even better.
Damn it.
DH
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12:09 AM
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Comments (5)vTuesday, September 26, 2006
After five serious relationships that have lasted a combined 6 1/2 years, I am currently entering my 15th consecutive month of single-hood. Fifteen months! Do you have any idea how long 15 months is? If I was a woman I could've had a baby and two first-term abortions by now, that's how long 15 months is (note: I think I need to find a better unit of measurement to tell time). Now granted, it all began with the proclamation that I needed to be single for a while and that I wasn't going to date anybody seriously until I was ready. But now after 15 months... yeah, I'm ready.
I've been enjoying the single life, though. As it turns out, all those great things your single friends brag about are true: you do learn a lot about yourself, it is great not having to answer to anybody, and as it turns out there is a lot of great free porn on the internet. However, there are definitely things that aren't great about being single. Things that you only notice after years and years of being a Boyfriend-Guy (BG). Below is a list of three ups and three downs associated with being single; from a guy who's spent a good amount of time on both sides.
The Joys Of Being Single: 3 Ups, 3 Downs (Starting With The Downs)
DOWN: Not Having That False "Sucks That I Have A Girlfriend, Because I'd Totally Be Hooking Up With That Chick If I Didn't" Sense Of Confidence -- Everybody who's ever been in a relationship knows that you're infinately more attractive to the opposite sex when you're unavailable. It's a fact. When you're in a relationship you're aware of this, and that ups your confidence even more. Whenever you meet a member of the opposite sex at a bar or a party you know that it's only a matter of time before she starts digging you. She WILL start digging you.
That's the kind of confidence that comes with being in a relationship. Now, combine that confidence with the fact that you never have to back up your words with action and you're golden. That's why a BG can point to the hottest girl in the room, tap his friend on the shoulder and say "I'd totally bang that girl tonight if it wasn't for Rebecca." He means it, he believes it, and there's no way to disprove it. I miss that kind of irrationality. It's fun.
DOWN: The "Flock Of Single Dudes" Effect -- When I was in a relationship I wondered about the groups of 8-12 guys you'd see walking the streets of NY City together. Why were there so many of them? Where were the girls? Didn't they realize that it's nearly impossible to pick up girls when you're rolling a dozen deep? Shit, when I was 16 I was part of a tight group of five, and even we knew to split up 3-2 when we were out picking up girls. I never understand the Flock of Single Dudes until I became a Single Dude. On a typical weekend night it's almost impossible not to become a Flock of Dudes. Even if your intentions are good, even if you want to hang out with just a couple of close friends, it's not going to last long. Eventually another Single Dude is going to call you and ask what you're up to. When he drops by he'll have a couple more SD's in tow. Then one of them will have their SD friends show up. Next thing you know you're part of a traveling sausage fest and complaining about all the "stupid bars" with their "stupid policies" about not letting a group of "stupid guys" in the door. Cut to an hour later, you're part of that annoying group at the dive bar that's doing shots together and praying that a lost bachelorette party stumbles through the door. It's not pretty.
DOWN: Plans, Plans, Plans, Plans, Plans -- It doesn't matter if you're a total homebody or a Paris Hilton-esque socialite, one of the best parts about being in a relationship is knowing you don't have to do something every night. The occasional night in where you and your girlfriend wear pajamas, order Chinese food and do nothing but watch movies On Demand, play Scrabble and fuck is a welcome escape from the crowded bars and constant demand to hold witty conversations while going drink for drink with your alcoholic friends. How could it not be? We're talking Scrabble and fucking! Who doesn't love Scrabble and fucking??? Besides terrorists. The answer is nobody.
And now onto the Up's of being single.
UP: There Are So Many Amazing Women Out There, So Many Who You'd Love To Get To Know On A Much Deeper Level, Specifically, (UP:) Carnally, And You Can Only Do That When You're Single. Sure, A Lot Of Your Friends Are Getting Married And At Times You're Envious Of What They Have, But Jesus, You're In Your 20's. You're Probably Going To Live Another 50 Years. Do You Really Think You're Ready To Make That Kind Of Commitment? Why Rush It? Take Some Time To Be Stupid, Hang Out With A Flock Of Dudes, Make Some Mistakes, Learn From Those Mistakes And Don't Settle Down Until You're Good And Ready. That's How You Grow As A Person, And More Importantly, It's... (UP:) Fun. It's Damn Fun.
Scrabble and Fucking Can Wait.
b
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2:53 PM
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Comments (7)vSunday, September 24, 2006
I’m staring at a row of vertical-striped dress shirts in my closet right now, and I cannot get over how much I want to destroy them all.
Sure, they’re nice enough shirts. Pretty damn expensive, too. But I look at those stripes, and I see where the vertical designs of the sleeves meet to form a sinister smile, and I know it’s wrong and realize no man should have these thoughts about his own outerwear -– but all I can think of is kerosene and a match.
This is not without reason.
Miami and I went out on the town last night, frequenting no less than 11 bars in midtown Manhattan. At each one of these bars we were met by an army –- a sharply dressed army -– of 20-something males in uniform engaged in war. Replacing their rifles were Malibu and cokes. In place of traditional military garb, they wore $70 striped collared shirts provided by the Banana Republic. An army of hair gel, bottomless credit card tabs and gold chains, coming by bridge, tunnel or PATH.
And they had arrived to rape and pillage the women of our fair island.
We rode into these bars like Paul Revere in 1775, trying to warn the women without children of the danger swarming all around them. But we were too late. There were two many of them. There were … so many of them. And even if we could get their attention, our desperate cries would be drowned out by their mighty leader … General Jon Bon Jovi.
With each march song the vertical army grew stronger: Livin’ On A Prayer, Laid, Pour Some Sugar on Me, that Grease song that everyone knows. They kept singing louder and louder until the deejay became superfluous. They were unstoppable. We were being overrun.
We ran to the bar for reinforcements, but there was no use. It was nearly 2 a.m., and though we guzzled brews and downed gin and tonics at an impressive rate, the army was far too powerful now. They had been drinking those long tube shots all night -- those stupid tube shots that the moderately attractive bar maid parades across the dance floor of every bar you ever hated. I always wondered who bought those dumb fucking shots … now it all makes sense.
Outside, the scene was like any other Saturday night in New York City. Couples made out, crying girls were comforted on building stoops by their friends, and guys ate pizza and laughed loudly as cabs swirled all around. Staring out into the humanity of long blonde hair and vertical-striped madness, I muttered, “I have no idea how we’re going to do this.”
Miami agreed that the bar was a total loss … but that’s not exactly what I meant.
My uneasiness extended far deeper than one lost battle. I was worried about the war.
DH
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10:44 PM
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Comments (2)v
When we started GF'07 in September our mission was simple: find serious girlfriends by New Years eve. After falling a little bit short (but learning valuable lessons along the way-- isn't that always the case?) we decided to modify things. Now, in 2007, while most of our friends are planning their weddings, it is our goal to find serious girlfriends. Women who will replace the "+1" on our invitations. Over the next 12 months, we'll try anything. Blind dates, speed dates, online dates-- nothing is off limits. This is GF'07. We're in '07. It's time to find the GF's.
