OMFG - The Chase: Expectation vs. Reality

Ever since Joseph Gordon-Levitt showed us his split-screen expectation versus reality vision in (the amazing, but also depressingly realistic) 500 Days of Summer, we collectively sighed. No, not over his adorably offbeat charm...but rather because we've all been there. The good old dating game! It never quite lives up to how we picture it, now does it?

Delusions of grandeur are exactly that...delusions. We romantics perhaps have it a bit worse than the rest, but I'd say, even in this jaded and opportunistic urban dating world, everyone is guilty of building things up in their pretty little heads. You want him to do this or lavish you with that, or do that thing that hot leading dude in that rom-com did for his leading lady. (Gosling/Tatum, I'm looking at you!) He, on the other hand, wants you to act this way or do that, or behave like that lady-in-the-streets but freak-in-the-bed chick he saw in that one movie. It's confusing and disappointing and pointless. The key? Adjusting your expectations.

Easier said than done, my fellow daters! The honeymoon period is called so precisely for a reason: the excitement, the courting, the chase...it's absolute heaven. There's nothing quite like the chase and a guy will likely pull out all the romantic, showy stops to get you from eye candy to bed candy...or sometimes girlfriend candy as well. I'm not saying men have to be utter showmen for the duration of the union, but guys...don't do anything you don't plan on up-keeping at least in some way while you're with her.

You can court the crap out of your girl at the beginning, but unless you genuinely can maintain that sort of behavior and, more so, think she deserves it (even after you're with her) then just don't. Seriously. Yes, we're talking financially (it's not like you're comping dinners to the company card here) but also affection-wise. It is more than irksome when a man starts off being intense and intimate and just fades from there. Cue the instant downer sound now. Either she'll resent you for thinking that you were at a level you weren't (or had stronger feelings for her than you do) or you'll resent her for having to execute actions you're just not interested in. Yes, we get it, the chase is the chase, but make it somewhat believable.

And to my girls who get swept away as easily as one, two, Louboutin -- throw in a little logic with those rose-tinted glasses! If he's whisking you away to St. Tropez, or wining and dining you to a ridiculous point within the first few weeks, it's not a good sign. Unless you want to be a little trophy or are a shameless gold digger (both totally plausible options in this city - and if that's your thing - by all means) then steer clear my friends, steer clear.

The trick to adjusting your expectations? Be happy with yourself as is. Anything on top of that will be a nice added perk! Anything that falls short, well, won't matter because you'll be fine one way or the other. Self-loathing makes for all-too-easy delusions of grandeur. Enjoy the chase, go along for the ride, but don't forget to self-tint those rose-colored glasses every now and then. x

Thank Goodness For Girl Friends - OMFG

Friends -- good friends -- and all the crazy shenanigans you get into with them, are what we'll all remember the most from our twenties. That time we partook in illicit behavior with that celebrity at 4 a.m. in Miami? Awesome. That time we all took this or that at the cottage and hilariously mused about life? Epic. That time we had to carry insert the one friend who always goes overboard out of that really fancy club and watched him/her vomit on the lawn then try and convince us to go back out partying? Less fun....but still a sick (literally) memory. While co-ed fun is always solid, there's something to be said for good times with your bros/girls. After all, Entourage and Sex and the City were both wildly popular for a reason.

As I creep into my late twenties, I've come to value my close girl friends more and more. Emphasis on the close. We're not talking fake club hugs and air kiss this and air kiss that while you vapidly discuss just where she got that divine sample sale clutch. No. We're talking real ass bitches who know you without the night time make-up. The ones you can sit around in sweats with and talk about every little uncertainty you have about life while they share theirs.

Now that we're all leading adult (ish) lives, there's been a transition from quantity to quality. Gone are the days when we all lived within a stone's throw of each other and had endless time to just hang out. Obsessive texting of boy crisis updates as they happen are a thing of the past. One of my closest girl friends and I haven't lived in the same city for years now and are still closer than ever. I've always maintained that distance and friendship have absolutely nothing to do with each other! (Thank you Skype, Viber, and especially Whatsapp -- because sometimes you just need to know that the grumpy cat photo you sent has been seen.)

A five minute talk with my bestie (and yes...no matter how old I get I will have a bestie and refer to her as my bestie) is all it takes to get me out of whatever ridiculous mood I might be in...and I'm proud to say I can do the same for several of my good girl friends as well. Like relationships, friendships only work when you both make each other better people. If she's happy for your successes (and never jealous), supports your at-times poor, irrational decisions (and is there for you during the aftermath), and you can still both get into as much trouble as you did when you were eighteen, then chances are you've found a close girl friend for life.

What has me feeling a sudden burst of love for my darling girls? Perhaps it's the holiday season that has me particularly maudlin. Or maybe, it's just an ongoing appreciation for all the forward-moving, mood-swinging, potty-mouthed, risk-taking, complicated and intelligent women in my life. Carrie once said it was about finding someone to run wild with you...she was of course, referring to her search for a spouse. I think Carrie got it partially right; it is all about finding someone to run wild with you -- not a spouse -- but rather a pack of good girl friends. I'll cheers my Cosmo to that. x

Online Dating - Yay or Nay?

While gorging on lobster spoons and too many desserts during lunch the other day (and really, all good conversation should occur in between bites of lobster spoons) my friends introduced me to an online way of meeting people I had never heard of. And by meeting, I mean potentially banging. After whipping out his iPhone and opening the app, my friend swiftly swiped his hand over the screen, each time revealing the Facebook profile picture of  a girl which he either yayed or nayed. What was this ridiculousness? An app called Tinder. Should some girl you yayed also yay you -- and voila, you now have the feigned online confidence to send her all the creepy winky emojis you'd like.

I was baffled that there was even the demand for an app like Tinder to exist. Is this what we've come to nowadays? Starting interactions based on (likely Photoshopped) Facebook selfies that turn into a series of well-calculated, overly-wrought interactions that lead to, what I can only imagine, are painfully awkward real life meetings? It appears so. Perhaps I'm one of the rare hopeless romantics left out there, but any, seriously any, real life meeting is more romantic and natural than some contrived shoving together of online personas. Seriously, ANY. Drunken club meets look like Ariel and Prince Eric in the canoe compared to this crap.

 Those browsing on something like Tinder probably aren't looking for lasting relationships...but what about those of us who are? Is there a way to meet a legit candidate online that doesn't make you want to lie about how you've met to people when they ask? Sure, the stigma of online dating is less than it was, say ten years ago, with young professionals leading insanely busy, no-nonsense lives -- but still, we can all admit it's not an ideal beginning. "And mommy met daddy by desperately searching through countless trolls and deciding he was the least hideous of the list. Ahh, romance."

I've signed up for eHarmony before. Once, while my then-boyfriend looked on as we laughed about what matches would pop up, and again just recently for the sake of this post. (Yes, I've already deleted the profile and no, I didn't respond to any interactions. Observation only, kids.) Their maudlin, everlasting-love themed commercials always do a number on my sappy self and if I was going to sign up for any dating site, I decided it would be this one. So, dear bloggees, what did my experience reveal? Basically what I thought going into it. It's creepy. It's weird. And it feels awfully unnatural. (Upon revealing that I had signed up for an account to my sister over brunch, she promptly looked horrified, told me to delete it, and said that I was 'prey' just waiting for online lurkers to hunt me down. This did not help.)

After filling out an extensive personality questionnaire which included sections on morals, looks, lifestyle, and more, I was shown my potential 'matches' who were specifically picked out for me. And I must say, the pickings were slim. Despite being 5"10, anti-sports and urban-minded, I kept receiving icebreakers from outdoorsy, sport-loving 5"6 men from small towns outside Toronto. Fail, eHarmony. Fa to the ail. Regardless of the not-so-plenty of fish in the online dating sea, I just couldn't get over the concept of it all. There's no mystery, No whimsy. And not a shred of wonder to any of it. Even if Channing Tatum had appeared in my matches, I could never bring myself to send an icebreaker over the freaking computer to a guy I was potentially interested in.

The whole experience merely reaffirmed what I already know: I'm a hopeless romantic living in a non-romantic world. Woe is me. But I'll take my chances in the real world of meeting people over the constructed world of meeting profiles any day. All the info I had listed on my profile is meant to be revealed over candid conversation, flirty arm touches, too many whiskey sours and, most importantly, over many, many lobster spoons -- not over clicks of a keyboard. Until next time darling bloggees, I'll see you in the flesh and blood. x
 

OMFG - Twitterpated When Spring Hits

My brain feels like it's 75% mush lately. My emotions are nonsensical (well, more so than usual -- I didn't think that was possible either) and what was once irrational now seems entirely possible. Blame it on a fever...or, more like Spring fever.

Even you jaded cynics can agree that when the first truly warm day of spring hits Toronto, you get just a little more optimistic about, well, everything! Although our winter barely showed its claws, it was still cold (this is Canada after all) and this past week has been a turning point -- we're in the twenties for the remainder of it and it's only March. The result? A hot and heavy case of being twitterpated.

No, it's not some social media lingo, but quite the opposite. A throwback to good old fashioned, almost obsolete slang (we can add malarkey and hunky dory to that list), twitterpated is how the wise little owl in Bambi describes the animals come Springtime to the young fawn when he asks what's come over them. In other words, it's a darling way of saying coo coo for (horny) Cocopuffs. Nothing turns a girl's thoughts to love and companionship more than lovely weather.

My guy friends aren't immune to the disease as well as they've upped their game (the single ones anyway) in the chase. Added swag here, unjustified over-confidence there. Warm breezes, dewy air, flowy dresses and copious amounts of day drinking have that affect on the youthful population. Tail hunting aside, the best part of being twitterpated isn't the romance, but the air of optimism. All us broken, damaged, or heavily weighed down hearts seem to feel fresh again. What once seemed wretched and tiresome now seems carefree and naive. And is it ever a good feeling!

Sure, the results of being twitterpated aren't necessarily productive but some times you have to just give in to your surroundings and be a little frivolous. To my fellow romantics, once-jaded converts and mended hearts...that shit cray, and ain't it lovely?
x

OMFG - Audio Sex.

Etta James passed away last week and with that news we all remembered her most famous song, At Last. Beautiful, simple and lovely, it has always been one of my favorite classic love songs. But, in this modern world where synth beats prove sexier than violins, I think it's time for a little update. Here are a few of my favorite modern songs to set the mood to!

1. Time is Running Out - Muse
This song has the hottest intro, I think, ever. Low, sexy, and just a little bit menacing...in the sexiest way of course. While lead singer Matthew Bellamy made us all collectively groan when he ran off with Kate Hudson (ugh, like, really?), as long as they continue to make smooth songs like this, we'll forgive him. (And they have a baby now or whatever so we'll make an exception.) Despite its slightly disturbing lyrics, the song is aggressive in an amorous possessive way, rather than a serial killer way. Or at least that's how I see it. You will be the death of me can either be totally creepy or totally romantic...I'm going to go with the latter.
Even if Bellamy sang about murder, I'd still have this song on the list for the intro alone.
Listen to it here!

2. Lost Without You - Robin Thicke
Where Barry White is the deep, baritone voice of liquid sex from generations past, Robin Thicke's voice is pure ear sex for us today. Opposite to White in every way (soprano...and a lean, white dude) except that their songs all make for some seriously romantic moods. Quite simply a song about how much he loves and admires a woman, the fact that it was written for, and the video stars, his real-life wife Paula Patton makes me swoon. With just the right number of ooh's and aah's without being cheesy and a subtle guitar accompaniment, this one never gets old.
Listen to it here!

3. High for This - The Weekend
What did we all get down to before the Weekend? Toronto's very own underground superstar is the new standard of music for baby-making. Some times you have proper romance with dinner, drinks and manners. And some times you have 3 a.m. drug-fueled illicit entanglements you can only get away with in your twenties. You can guess which of the two scenarios this song is for. It literally beckons one to get high and make some sweet lovin'. Intense, shiver-inducing and smooth as silk, this is one for those nights out that end in the best way possible. And hey, if you and your lover are past the point of coherence, the lyrics are pretty much a step-by-step guide of what to do! Win.
Listen to it here!

4. Futuresex/Lovesounds - Justin Timberlake
Before JT went all mediocre actor on us, he made some pretty decent music. While Justified was loved mainly by aged teenyboppers, his sophomore album Futuresex/Lovesounds was kind of awesome. The title track is by far my favorite. Slickity slick slick is the only way to describe it. Sexy but not obscene lyrics, synthesized but not overdone and with a bass made to grind to, it's subtle, modern and suggestive. Every time I listen to it, it makes me hate Jessica Biel just a little bit more than I did 4:02 minutes ago. Sexyback can suck it, this is where sexy is at.
Listen to it here!

5. Bed - J. Holiday
Every sexy song list needs a good ole' RnB clincher. I had to stop myself from putting Ginuwine's Pony on here (Best. Grinding. Song. Ever.) and instead went the more romantic route with J. Holiday. Don't let his neck tattoo fool you...this song is sweet sensuousness at its best. Another soprano male voice (I think I'm seeing  trend here..), the lyrics are so loving they're almost precious. Seriously, I don't think there's an RnB song out there as endearingly worded as this one. Love is war, I'm your soldier is my favorite line from a song, ever. Irresistible.
Listen to it here!

The Afterparty....OMFG

There's a little ritual that happens every week when I'm out with friends at a club. The bass gets softer, the bottles are face down in the ice buckets and everyone starts to get a little restless. My friends and I exchange sheepish glances and it's clear to everyone that even though the venue is closing down, our night is far from over. And thus begins the search for the after party. Oh, the after party! In a city where last call is a relatively early 2 a.m. (In Montreal, we'd all be less motivated after a good extra hour of drinking, and in NYC, being up until the sunrise is usually a given..) the search for the after party is a regularly occurring ritual for nights out. Over my years out and about on the scene I've seen them all...from sketchy iron-barred hole-in-the-walls on Spadina, to three story penthouses overlooking the water, and everything in between.

It begins with texting. You message your friends who are out and about across the city and see who is willing to volunteer their desirable digs to have people over. If it's not a friend, then it's a friend of a friend. Or, more likely, a dude who knows the neighbor of a friend of a friend of a friend, but is totally loaded and just wants to have a good time. And in the hours after 2 a.m., that's really the common goal here: having a good time. That pursuit of (temporary) happiness as it may be is what brings together the most random assortment of people. I've walked into after parties only to notice after a few minutes that aside from the people I've shown up with, I recognize absolutely no one there. I've also walked into after parties and right back out because there have been more than a few people I would rather not spend time with. Unless I know the owner of the house personally or am the instigator of the shady shindig, it's a lotto game when it comes to the crowd: everyone from my good friends, to industry, to drug dealers, to loose gold-diggers and hipsters. (I'll let you decide just how many of those categories overlap. Clue? Too many.)

Those that are in couples, have office jobs in the early morning or scheduled end-times in their heads to their night need not apply to the after party process. Sure, there are exceptions to every rule (and as half of a couple who used to party hard with her ex, I'll share this: it's fun at first to have a boyfriend/partner in crime, but when you're serious with some one, you just want to hang out alone at 4a.m.) The after party is for those who went out looking for something and aren't satisfied by the time the club dies down -- whether it be a bootycall, riding out the rest of a high, or simply a desire to connect with some one new, we're all looking for something, or some one, when we make our way into the next dimly lit premise.

Sketchiness aside, I've had some amazing times at after parties, which probably happen more than I'd like to admit. What makes the difference for me between sketchiness and sketchy good times is the company; and fortunately I'm always armed with a pretty awesome crew of friends and solid people. That's another goal one can have when it comes to after hours: it doesn't have to be about sex or drugs, but simply just extending a good night out with friends. Fun, friends, and just a little bit of scandal....the perfect mix for after parties in our lovely city. Happy hunting fellow nightcrawlers!
x

OMFG - Cuppycake Heaven.

There's something to be said about the perfect cupcake. A little piece of heaven made of perfectly dense yet fluffy batter, airy frosting and melty goodness that spreads a sugary warmth when eaten. If it wasn't detrimental to my health and more importantly to my figure, I'm positive my diet would consist entirely of cupcakes.

Something of a phenomenon over the past decade, cupcakes have taken the gastro world by storm and remain the toast of the baking world. From wacky foodie flavors (bacon cupcakes!) to haute couture designs (Louis Vuitton cupcakes!) and everything in between, it seems the appeal of a little loaf of cake is never ending. Later this week my dear friend Elizabeth and I are doing what two fat kids trapped inside models bodies should do: taking a cupcake tour of New York City. So far our stops are set to include the legendary (well to Sex and the City fans anyways) Magnolia Bakery, Crumbs, Sugar Sweet Sunshine, and the darling sounding Babycakes. My poor thighs won't know what hit them.

What is it that attracts the masses to these bundles of baked goodness? There are even cupcake trucks dotted around the city (Toronto, take note!) and any decent deli has a few frosted selections. Surely there's a reason the masses have jumped on board the cupcake wagon. Aside from being scrumptious, cupcakes (or as my sister and I call them cuppycakes...a name we used when we were little that stuck) are small enough that eating one doesn't cause mounds of fat guilt...although speaking from experience, eating 5 does. (Side note: earlier this year I took the bus back from New York to Toronto with a parting gift from a friend: a dozen cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine. Needless to say only 6 survived the ten hour journey. And by 6, I mean 4...it was a long time guys! Don't judge.) For girls, and certain guys I'm sure, cupcakes are an ideal little package. Chic, and easy to dress up in gorgeous little outfits, cupcakes are definitely the most fashionable of anything you'll find in a bakery...delectable and designer? Irresistible.

As a girl, I can say from experience that nothing elicits squeals of excitement quite like a box of pretty cupcakes frosted and decorated to lip-smacking loveliness. There's something comforting about stylish sweets, uncomplicated and complete in their deliciousness and appearance. You know they look good, you know they're sweet on the inside and you know they're going to satisfy you -- which is more than I can say about most men! The choice between sex and chocolate is a question that always seems to pop up when my friends and I are having post-club drunken conversations and the verdict is usually split in half. It seems that there's no easy answer to what's more satisfying for a woman: desserts or sex. (For the record, I choose the former...there are some things chocolate will never do for a girl.) Perhaps if the question had been cupcakes, and not chocolate, over sex, the verdict would be unanimous. I've seen girls who don't eat carbs, girls who have sworn off gluten and girls who pick and prod at single pieces of sashimi dive into cupcakes with the enthusiasm of a fat kid....sex in a box, is basically what cupcakes are to women.

My homage to cupcakes is nothing more than the foodie in me expressing a love for these darling treats. I have not been able to pass a cupcake truck yet here in Manhattan without sampling at least one of the flavors on display! (They have mini sizes, and one bite sizes...genius.) Versatile, trendy, chic and most of all mouth-watering delicious, cupcakes are a single girl's best food friend and a non-single girl's comfort in frustration. Or, if you're just a foodie like yours truly, they're simply the icing on the cake...literally! Bon appetit! x

OMFG -- Ohhh Charlie.

Oh Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. That drunken, high, prostitute-banging mess known as Charlie Sheen sat down for his first post-mess interview and it -- oh jeez, where do I even begin. I give credit where credit is due and the man is honest if nothing else. Aside from his stark honesty however is, in my opinion, a pathetic little man with some serious ego delusions.

If you haven't seen the interview yet, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5aSa4tmVNM

Some poetically beautiful gems (note the extreme sarcasm) spoken from his mouth include the lines: "I'm not bi-polar...I'm bi-winning!", "I probably took more than anyone could survive...because I'm me. I'm different, I have a different constitution, a different heart, a different brain....dying is for fools.", and the real kicker: "I've just answered to a higher calling. I blinked and I cured my brain."
The general reaction I've heard from my friends and online is that Charlie Sheen has gone from epic mess to just epic. Apparently comparing yourself to a higher power who, and I quote, has "exposed people to magic that people otherwise wouldn't see in their boring, normal lives." makes you really fucking cool. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for being cool...in fact anyone who knows me well can vouch for my attraction to all dudes with swagger and situations ripe with exclusivity. And I'm also all for partying...again anyone who knows me, or has partied with me on more than one occasion can safely say I subscribe to the notion of going hard..I mean if you're going to have fun, you might as well go 100%. So yes, I understand the fascination with a celebrity who has shamelessly promoted a lifestyle we all secretly aspire to at one point or another...but to call him simply amazing and a legend? Yeah...no.
Just listening to Sheen go on about his otherworldliness made me laugh. It's amusing to see that he believes his "tiger blood" will keep him alive even when snorting more snow than we see fall in a winter and to wax on about how he's God's gift to partying. Like, come on now dude, are you kidding me? The second he relapses (which he will, despite his "on/off" brain capabilities he so delicately explained) and ends up in a coffin is the second all his slack-jawed admirers will realize that all people, no matter how delusional, are human.
But I get it, I really do. It's admirable to see some one normalize such a taboo but insanely fun lifestyle, and not only normalize it but preach it like they mean it. And if you're anyone remotely attached to the scene, of any city really, I'm sure you can relate. (No judgement here guys...heavens knows I've been there, and back, and then some.) Sheen was born to a famous father and family and is used to his privileged lifestyle and consequence-less (relatively speaking anyways) life and it seems to have inflated his ego, just ever so slightly.
At the end of the day, he's just a three-times divorced washed-up actor with five children who did a bunch of drugs and banged a lot of hookers. Cool or not cool.....it's just really fucking gross.
x

Pick-up Lines 101 -- OMFG

If I could give advice to all the men out there it would be a simple as these four words: don't be a douche. Just don't. I know it's tempting, there are so many scenarios out there that just beg for utter douchiness, but you don't want to be that guy! You know, the one giving the hand guns out to all the sexy ladies in the club while winking and shaking his ass non-rhythmically to Usher while hovering around his lady-less both. Yeah, that guy. So, to help you all avoid being that guy, I'm going to share with you some pick-up lines one should never use on a lady with any self respect and which have all sadly been used at one time or another on yours truly. (Girls who have more then half of their boobs out, fake tans, more than one cut-out in their dresses, are wearing pink platform heels and/or are generally giving it all away in any other respect need not apply -- they're fair game men! Oops, and by "fair", I mean "easy".) Gentlemen -- let's begin!

1. "Hey baby -- I think I know you! Didn't we sleep together before?"
Oh goodness. I don't even know where to start on this one. First of all, implying to a girl that she's slept with some one and doesn't remember is probably the worst thing you can do. Maybe repeating "must not make girl feel like slut!" as a general rule of thumb would be a good idea, boys! Also implying that you have been with so many girls you can't remember if maybe, possibly, you've slept with her doesn't exactly paint the prettiest picture. No, it doesn't make you seem like a debonair stud who goes around bedding women with Clooney-like dapperness; it makes you look like a creep who goes around banging women with STD-like grossness. Another point to note: pairing this line with your hand on her ass guarantees a drink in the face. And then the glass thrown at you as well. (In my defense, I didn't throw the glass at his face..but only because being intoxicated skews my aim. Ha.)

2. "Hi gorgeous. Are you a model? Because I sure am."
This zinger starts of flattering enough, I mean who are we kidding, all girls want to hear they look like a model, i.e. better than all the other girls at the club but then the ending -- oh that ending! I actually laughed out loud when some guy pulled this on me. Let's be clear here: posing for a photographer friend's expensive new camera, having the picture desaturated and then stamped with a little logo in the corner and posting said picture as your Facebook profile pic does not, I repeat not make you a model. Neither does having "catwalk" pictures of you from a couple club shows because you know the promoters of the club and hit the gym extra hard that week. These revelations are especially embarrassing when the girl you're hitting on is a model and knows the difference between a comp card and that Zoolander-like photo of you you're showing her on your iPhone. Actually, come to think of it, any girl, model or not, would know the difference! Unless you're with an agency, and a narcissistic asshole who preys on girls with low self-esteem, this line probably isn't going to work.

College Humor says it best: the Anatomy of a Douche.

3. "How heavy is a polar bear? Let's just say heavy enough to break the ice."
I want to preface this one by saying that I've heard this line not one, not two, but on three separate occasions! The first time I was mildly amused, the second I thought I heard wrong and the by the third time I think I snapped "Nope, not heavy enough!" and walked away. That's why preconceived lines like this one are such a huge fail; we girls know you've put all this thought into it and that comes off as desperate and -- well just kind of sad! Also, the line is so generic it implies you're just trying it on every girl and seeing who reacts to it. Not exactly the greatest when girls want to feel one of a kind. Other lines in the lame cheeseball category include "So, they rearranged the alphabet and put U and I together!", "Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?", "Are you tired? Because you've been running around in my head all day!" Here's a simple way to put it: Pre-planned cheesy line + wink  + any shiny item of clothing = attraction levels similar to Walowitz from the Big Bang Theory! Google image "Walowitz" boys, and you'll never use such a line again.

4. "That dress is really beautiful! And it goes really well with your shoes. You have great taste!"
Don't get me wrong men, flattery will get you everywhere; make it sincere flattery and you're pretty much golden! But compliments on what we're wearing...well it's puts you into that "is he or isn't he into women?"  zone. This grey area is right next to Friendship-ville which is one stop away from Never-gonna-get-any-land. Yes, we may have our arms around you, will dance and grind with you, and are sharing stories with you about that-jerk-that-did-that-thing-to-us-but-why-won't-he-text-omg!, but if you look closely we're also doing that with all our other girlfriends at the club. In other words, if you haven't expressed that you're into us and not just our clothes, we probably think you're gay! Compliment the girl, not the clothes boys, and we won't confuse you with the plethora of amazing gay friends we already have to tell us our dresses are fierce.

5. "Wow, you're really pretty! Almost as pretty as your friend over there!"
The back-handed compliment was a good method like five years ago, but now this counter-method of knocking the prettiest girl down only because it makes you stand out from the rest of the men slobbering over her has become so common that it's lame. The girls you're going to reel in with snide remarks like this either have serious daddy-issues or....nope just serious daddy issues! And if she doesn't, she's just going to think you're an ass, which is generally how I feel when I get one of these backhanders laid on me. Playing this little game is amusing enough I guess, but it you're a real gentleman or, you know, a decent human being, you'll find a way to create the chase without having to insult a gorgeous girl that you're actually into. Also, dishing it out means you better be prepared to take it, so unless you want to hear about how your hair has too much gel, or just because the Jersey Shore is in doesn't mean that Ed Hardy shirt is, and oh, is that some make-up we spot covering the bags underneath your eyes?, it's best to just steer clear of backhanded compliments! (Side note: I've said it before and I'll say it again: don't wear Ed Hardy to a club. Or any other place. Or in life. Ever. Just don't. Perhaps on Halloween with a big dose of humor and irony but that's the only exception people!)

Those are five of the worst pick-up lines out there...but that's just the tip of the iceberg. A good friend of mine got "Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see!" in all seriousness the other night and honestly, the fact that she didn't burst out laughing at the poor guy should get her a medal in grace. I can't speak for all the other ladies out there but I'm usually interested when a guy is sincere. Oh, and when all else fails, just remember those ever-important words: Don't be a douche.
x