Make a left, right?

After a particularly bad trip to my doctor last year, I wrote a complaint letter that ended with the sentence, "And if I could ask for my blood back, I would."

I'm sure there are many talented doctors in this world, but unfortunately I haven't met any yet.

For that reason, The Weil Institute of Critical Care's recent medical research press release, "Who Decides How to Save Your Life?" gives me hope that just because I may have had a bad experience with my doctor, there's actually an entire group of people directly responsible for my healthcare. But if their research is anything like their writing, I may just want to pass.

“Most research makes the average person's head ache with scientific terms and medical language we don't understand and certainly won't read. We simply want the life saving benefit of all their efforts," reads the release. “There's nothing wrong with that, after all, that's what the scientists and engineers are getting paid for, right?”

Um, right?

“Wrong! The world's leader in critical care medicine research since 1955 is a non-profit education and research organization that relies on the charity of, guess who?”

Um, I don’t know – who?

“The public. Surprised?”

Yes?

“The Weil Institute has touched us all in one way, shape, manner or form in our lifetime. If you know someone saved by CPR, they wrote the Guidelines; if a future victim has an improved quality of life after suffering sudden cardiac arrest, you can bet the Weil Institute of Critical Care Medicine could ultimately take the credit. They won't.”

If you’re confused now, just wait until you read the full release. I went through it at least five times and I still don’t understand what they’re announcing - though I think it has something to do with either Who or How to Save Your Life.

Either way, I really just want my blood back.

<3 U!

Last week, I got a very official-looking letter from the Federal Investigative Services Division of some government agency.

Feeling a cold sweat coming on, I ripped the envelope open without taking another step.

The letter read, “Your name has been provided by the person identified below to assist in completing a background investigation to help us determine this person’s suitability for employment or security clearance.”

Oh - Phew.

On the back of the letter was a SAT-style multiple choice questionnaire, which needed to be filled out with a No. 2 pencil.

The first question was, “My association with this person is/was as a:”

A) Co-worker
B) Neighbor
C) Friend
D) Spouse
E) Former spouse
F) Other (Please explain in Line 8)

“Say ‘Other’!” my friend pleaded. “Fill in other and write ‘Lover!’”

“I’m not doing that,” I told him.

"Please?"

"No, I'm not writing that!" I said.

“Why not?!” he demanded. “Come on. Put ‘Lover!’ Please!”

In the end, I chose C) Friend. I’m sorry if that makes me a kill-joy.

To compensate, I may follow Forgivenet.com’s relationship advice as stated in their press release, “Valentine's Day - Ask for Forgiveness From Your Lover.”

“Saint Valentine's Day is a wonderful opportunity to express emotions and even to ask for forgiveness from the lovers whom we have hurt in the past, to unburden our hearts, to apologize and even to make a personal romantic confession,” according to the release.

Forgivenet.com encourages its visitors to “Post a Confession and Secret - to tell what you had never told before.”

Out of curiosity, I read a random confession posted on the site.

“i hate you..
1/29/2008 i sometimes think about our 3 year perfect friendship and wonder still why u turned your back on me all of a sudden for no reason,but then i start thinking about when u turned on me,everything that u said to everyone that i ever conided and trusted u with...and i just get the thoguth of slitting your throat and watching u bleed in a bloody mess...and laughing hysterically while u gurgle up blood...i hate u now more than ever.."

I really hope that these posts are not the same messages that Forgivenet.com referenced in their release and promised to “print out copies of… and place them among the holy stones in the Holy Land.”

I mean, the last thing I want on a holy stone in Israel is a message that says “i h8 u 4--->… lover.”

Dating advice that works 50% of the time.

A bar patron in Philadelphia once told me, “I know the best pick up line.”

I had to hear him out – if not for my own entertainment, then for that of my friends.

“OK. Let’s hear it,” I said.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“That’s it?!” I asked. “I have a drink!”

And with that, he swatted the glass right out of my hand and let it smash on the floor.

“Bet you want that drink now!” he taunted.

I have to admit, I never heard that one before and the delivery was spot on. It obviously didn’t work, but as far as pick up lines go, at least it was memorable.

To be honest though, I didn’t even think that people still used pick up lines. But that’s obviously not the case because a new “national Dating and Mating Survey” launched by the Little Penguin - who is “challenging Americans to do as Australia's Little Penguins do ... and find your mate in 2008” – reported that half of the women polled “still fall for pick up lines.”

In light of the statistic, the Little Penguin encouraged readers to “…keep at it -- pick-up lines can be the perfect ice breaker when you want to grab the attention of a would-be date.”

True. Nothing grabs my attention like a quick rum and coke to the feet.

But I feel it’s necessary to point out that the statistic they provided implies that while pickup lines may work for half the women polled, they obviously don’t work for the other half.

50/50

That’s not great odds.

Perhaps recognizing this inadequacy, “…the Little Penguin has teamed up with Dating Diva and Booty Food author, Jacqui Malouf, to help urban penguins get more booty -- Valentine's Day and every day,” reads the release. “…confused daters can read the hilarious Do's and Don'ts of Dating and find Date Night ideas including delicious food and wine parings guaranteed to heat things up in the kitchen and elsewhere.”

I’d like to share my own “hilarious Don’t:”

Don’t break someone’s glassware. It will likely lead to problems at the bar “and elsewhere.”

At least half the time.

What do running, online dating and my father have in common?

My father has this habit of answering rhetorical questions.

For instance, when my brother asked me to enter a six-mile race with him last spring, I said, “Maybe. The four-mile one wasn’t too bad. When I run, I just have to find my pace. I mean, six miles… four miles – what’s the difference?”

And my father answered, “Oh – two miles!” and shrugged.

But it seems a lot of people make that mistake. Like the folks at Incredimail who kicked off their latest press release with the following question:

“What do pocket protectors, protractors and slide rulers have to do with online romance?”

They answered, “These days, nothing!”

I hope whoever wrote that shrugged before continuing: “It used to be that only those thought of as geeks and nerds -- losers, if you will -- went online to find love. Now, it's better, faster, more economical and well, just easier to go online and find that potential mate.”

I agree with their approach. If I were promoting IncrediWorld, a new medium that encourages people to “look-up, meet-up and hook-up online,” I would definitely remind them that “losers” are likely users.

Oh, but who am I to say that, you know? Who am I?

No one!

Guac-a-what did you say?!

At our family’s Christmas get-together last year, my aunt brought homemade guacamole.

My grandmother saw it on the table and asked me, “What’s that?!”

“It’s guacamole,” I told her.

“What’s it called?!” she asked again.

“Guacamole.”

“What?!”

“It’s dip,” I finally told her.

It’s too bad that the guy who once spent twenty minutes of my lunch hour explaining his guacamole recipe in detail wasn’t around to list the ingredients for her: “Avocados. Tomatoes. Onions. Cilantro - that’s the secret ingredient. Salt,” he had told me months earlier.

“Do you mix yours by hand?” I asked.

“God, no,” he said, quite seriously. “I use a spoon.”

Armed with that information, I may be able to make my very own guacamole and thus accommodate Dr. Wendy Bazilian’s request for Superbowl party-goers to make “savvy nutritional choices.”

“Gourmet and exciting can also be healthy and nutritious! Add pizzazz with colorful SuperFoods vegetables, innovative low-fat dips and scrumptious finger foods,” reads the release. “You can spruce-up your guacamole and be hip with mini pizzas and tasty baked tortillas chips alongside hit-of-the-party salsa.”

Aside from the fact that a lot of that seemed illogical - I must ask, exactly how can a low-fat dip be innovative?

It seems to be a bit of a stretch.

Unless – of course – maybe it was mixed with some sort of technologically enhanced spoon.

Valentine Gift Ideas for under $90

I got the best Christmas gift from a misguided, but good-intentioned, co-worker this year. It was given to me covertly in the office break room minutes before our holiday party started.

“I wanted to give it to you here because I didn’t get anything for the rest of the team,” he told me as he handed me a rumpled plastic bag.

Guess what it was.

I’ll tell you what I was expecting – maybe a keepsake ornament or yet another Magic Scarf.

But go ahead and guess.

Did you guess thirty plastic take out containers from the Chinese restaurant on 3rd Avenue? Because that’s what it was.

He said, “When I picked up my beef and broccoli in one of these, I knew you would like them. I remember that I tried throwing yours out at lunch one time and you yelled at me.”

That’s true. I practically lunged across the park and ripped the container right out of his hands.

Then I stole a line from my father and said, “That’s still good!”

My father usually uses that to defend keeping things that are clearly broken – like a piece of rope from our severed clothesline.

“What the heck are you going to do with that?” I asked as the he picked up the rope from our backyard.

“This is a good rope!” he told me.

And then he fashioned it into a belt. Which he wore for three consecutive days.

When I swatted that Tupperware out of my co-worker's hand last summer, I know my father would have been proud.

And you know, as comical as it was to receive take-out containers for Christmas, as far as gifts go, they were certainly useful and dare I say, better than one of these.

Apparently The Vermont Teddy Bear Company, PajamaGram and Calyx Flowers are pushing the Cinderella-themed teddy bear as “just the gift to surprise a princess” for Valentine’s Day. It costs just $89.95.

Just imagine how many take out containers I could buy for $90.

And then think about how many pairs of shoes my father could make out of them!

The Dating Doubter: A Play in One Act.

Location:
Wilkes Barre, Pa.

The Year:
2005

The couple stands in a small apartment. My Date crosses the room and stands in front of a table with a computer. A miniature schnauzer romps playfully on the floor.

My Date: My roommate hooked up the Internet and it’s really fast.

Me: Oh really? What do you have?

My Date: Just the Internet.

Me: No, I mean is it DSL or is it cable?

My Date: I don't know, but it's really fast. Both computers use the same one too!

Me: You mean they use the same connection?

My Date: No, the same Internet. Both computers plug into a little box and you can use both computers at the same time.

Me: Oh! You mean a router!

My Date: No… this is just a box. (Holds the box.)

Me: That’s a router!

My Date: (Shrugs) Well whatever, it’s really fast.

Try as I may to convince my date that the “little box” had a name, he didn’t believe me. Perhaps I should have used Renee Mazer’s new approach to vocabulary building: WORDGASM, “a risque vocabulary builder.”

“The set of CDs or audio tapes contains 'remember me' clues for over 500 of the most tested vocabulary words. If it makes you laugh, it'll get stuck in your head. For instance, "My boyfriend's kissing was lackluster, so I said 'See you later buster,'"” according to ReneeMazer.com.

That approach may have worked for my date and his little box. Something like:

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,
I said, "It’s called a router,"
Do you need me to repeat it,
Or just say it louder?”

My ideal man is a millionaire (patriot).

Social networking sites really bring out the best.

For instance, I once received a query from a young man in New Jersey. His request was very specific:

“Who I'd like to meet: My ideal female is around 20-27 98 lbs to 125 lbs, blonde/brunette either one, curly hair, which she can straight up every time she feel like it, blue/green/hazel eyes, her body has to be slim and firm, fair skin. I don’t like female with more that C-cup. I enjoy been around females that take care of themselves, ex... nice French manicure & pedicure, facials a new haircut. U knows always looking fresh. My ideal date is picking you up at 7 am, run one mile, walk down the water line at the shore (Bahamas) or local beach will do then swim, breakfast at 9:30, take the sun for one hour, then go to the arcade (11:30) then lunch from 12-1. Go shopping for two hours (1:30-4:00), ice cream at 4:30 go to the movies, dinner at 8:00 play pool from 9:30-10. To help us heat up we will jump to the whip roll right to the hottest club in town, where we will get down to droung. After getting all wasted we will go to the penthouse, playing slow jams following with a prefect chill bottle of crystal and next to the fire place we will make what our wildest warm bodies (passions) are will to perform”

It goes without saying that I was appalled that the site let him post that.

But at least they put their foot down with the Millionaire Patriot.

Yes, Facebook refused the Millionaire Patriot’s pay-per-click ad campaign, which offered a handgun training course, concealed weapon permit course and a free handgun to the first 5,000 citizens who responded. In an apparent attempt to turn a negative into an even bigger negative, the Millionaire Patriot issued a press release over the rejection.

“It appears to me that Facebook is discriminating against gun owners and placing gun ownership in the same category as pornography… A gun does not cause crime anymore than a camera causes pornography and I do not see Facebook rejecting ads for cameras!” said the Millionaire Patriot.

Certainly Mr. Patriot cannot support giving a free handgun to just anyone - especially not the above gentleman who I fear may take it with him when he “jump to the whip roll right to the hottest club in town” (11-12).

Honestly.

I wouldn’t even trust that kid with a keyboard.

Read the original Millionaire Patriot post.

E-A-G-L-E-What?

The Philadelphia Eagles went to the Superbowl three years ago. The day before the game, my parents came to the city.

“The Eagles haven’t won a Superbowl in I don’t know how long,” my father said at dinner. “I think the last game was in 1982… best thing that happened that year.”

“I was born in 1982,” I told him.

“Oh. Two good things!”

To recover, my mother decided to have the entire family do the Eagles cheer in the middle of the Chinese restaurant.

“Everyone take a letter,” she instructed. “I’ll start - E!”

“A!” I said.

“G!” my brother played along.

We looked at my father.

“What?” he asked.

We never finished the cheer that day, but my roommates and I did it about 30 times the next day at our Superbowl party. We made green margaritas and fashioned a football-shaped cake cut by hand from a very large sheet cake pan.

All in all, I think it would have made for a good submission for Heluva Good’s “Make Your Party a Heluva Good!(R) Party Big Game Contest.”

"We're looking for people who love Heluva Good products and who know how to have a Heluva Good time during their Big Game parties," said Lynne Bohan, Heluva Good spokesperson. "If you think your party is a Heluva Good party, there's a Heluva Good chance you'll win a Heluva Good trip to next year's Big Game."

Like our party's incessant cheering during the game, no amount of repetition in that quote could have improved things.

The Eagles lost and not even the football-shaped cake that we slapped together in the fourth quarter helped.

But there was always 1982 – that was a Heluva Good year.

Famous last words.

Growing up in Northeast Pennsylvania, my father would occasionally line up old bottles and cans in the woods and let me and my brother shoot at them with loaded guns.

One time, as I was leaning across the hood of our Dodge Raider, aiming at an old vanity light bulb propped on a rock 20 yards away, my father took the pistol out of my hands and said, “You’re holding it all crooked! You’re going to shoot the car!!”

And immediately after saying that, he of course shot the car – the bottom of the passenger door to be precise. He narrowly missed his own foot.

I was about nine at the time and I didn’t know what irony was, but I made a mental note that I was going to find that day really funny in about 15 years.

Given my history with firearms, I’m concerned that someone dubbed the “Millionaire Patriot” is providing a "Springfield Armory XD Pistol free of charge to the first 5,000 law-abiding citizens who take advantage of his offer.”

And if the release wasn’t enough - I’m especially concerned with the Front Sight Firearms Training Institute’s Web site banner, which seems to feature five photos of the Millionaire Patriot pretending to be a secret agent man.

He better hope that my father doesn’t find out about this offer – you know, for his car’s sake.

Books are dangerous.

My mother used to joke that I could hurt myself doing just about anything.

She’s right. I once put on hand lotion before attempting to do a triceps dip on my coffee table and I slipped right off the edge and hit the back of my head on the way down.

“Do you have a concussion?” my mother asked, clearly more annoyed than concerned.

She had to ask me things like that a lot while I was growing up and I’m sure the trip to the emergency room was not her proudest moment as a parent.

But at least – at least – I'm not like 80% of college students who claim to have physically hurt themselves on a text book.

According to a new study conducted by Zogby International on behalf of CafeScribe.com, “Many of the 600 students surveyed reported potentially serious health issues as the result of buying, reading, carrying, or using a textbook…”

It seems I really lucked out. I bought textbooks all through college and I never managed to injure myself on them.

Not even when I put them on my coffee table.

Why we should stop selling vitamins.

After the last presidential election, I definitely referred to Ohio as “The Fuckeye State.”

Very mature, I know.

But as it turns out, if I don’t like this year’s results, I can blame vitamins.

TABS Group, a marketing, consulting and research company, released survey results that claim to analyze presidential election voting preferences based on vitamin and supplement purchases.

“These results provide interesting insight into Vitamin and Supplement Users and how their usage patterns can predict and explain voting behavior,” said Kurt Jetta, President of TABS Group.

Yes, really.

My dog barks louder than your dog.

While I was an intern, I once had a boss run out of his office, trip over a chair and shout, "I need all the chairs put in storage! We don't sit in a crisis situation!" The crisis that he was referring to was a power outage. In another state.

That day, as I was walking around collecting chairs and wheeling them into the closet - all because New York City didn't have electricity - I realized how valuable my bachelor’s degree really was.

That happened years ago and just as I thought I might have to finally retire the story, I ran into my former boss at a networking event. Thankfully, he had plenty of new material.

“My dog knocked over our Christmas tree,” he said as he positioned himself one inch in front of my face.

“Your dog knocked over the Christmas tree!” I repeated, hoping to attract an audience. “That’s really something!”

Like a moth to a flame, a woman who introduced herself as a miniature poodle owner announced, “My dog ate the Christmas tree.” Apparently her dog did this either immediately before or after he knocked an air valve out of an SUV tire.

As someone who can’t stand losing, my boss countered with, “My dog head-butted a kitchen window screen! It's ruined!”

She said, "My dog is sick right now.”

And I swear, my boss revealed, “Well, my dog is dying.”

Yes, that's what it came down to. And no one can top a dead dog, so don’t even try.

Exchanges like this are what good networking events are made of. So when I found out that a reporter at a national women’s magazine was writing a column about social etiquette during networking, I was tempted to reply.

Specifically, the reporter wants to know, “…about what to do when you run into people you know at a social function. Other than say hello, should you then each go your own way or should you feel obligated to join them/ask them to join you?”

I think the answer should be, “Try to top the dead dog.”

Conversation starters from my father.

As a teenager, I failed my driver’s license test on three separate occasions – the most notable of which was when the test administrator instructed me to pull over and told me, “Any time someone almost gives me a heart attack during the test, I automatically fail them.”

He was over-reacting. The car I had turned in front of a few seconds prior didn’t even honk.

But because I couldn’t drive myself, my mother had to drop me off and pick me up at all kinds of places, including the basement of my Catholic high school for a fall dance.

“Hey!” my dad shouted as I was heading out the front door. “NO DRUGS!”

“I don’t even drink soda,” I told him.

“I’m talking drugs,” he said. “They’re everywhere and don’t you do them!”

When we got in the car, my mother said, “I wish they’d stop playing those ‘Talk to your kids about drinking’ commercials. He just doesn’t get it.”

It’s too bad my father didn’t have access to The Partnership for a Drug-Free America’s TimeToTalk campaign.

“Parents can find helpful information, including TimeToTalk's latest tip, Five Teachable Moments on www.TimeToTalk.org. Five Teachable Moments is a tip sheet for parents who are having trouble talking with their teen about the risks of drug and alcohol use,” reads the release.

Yelling, “No drugs!” out the screen door was not one of the five teachable moments. But maybe it should be because it worked.

"I've been praying for a way out of here for three days!"

When I was a junior in high school, my theology teacher recommended that I attend a leadership camp.

Michelle, my partner-in-crime in high school, was nominated too and we were shipped off to Clark Summit, Pa. for the first week in July.

Our first clue that something was amiss was that we were staying in a convent.

Our second clue was that there were about fifty kids in groups of five or six standing on the convent lawn and they appeared to be coordinating some sort of dance routine.

This was not a leadership camp. It was a religious leadership camp. And, presumably, it was for boys and girls with bad attitudes.

“You’re going to leave me here?!” I hissed at my parents as they got back in their car. “With these freaks!”

They didn’t listen to me.

“No, really,” I said to my parents. “Do you see these people?! They’re freaks!”

But my parents left Michelle and me with the camp supervisor in the gravel parking lot that afternoon and all three of us knew it was going to be a long week.

“Put your things inside and then join us on the lawn for a game of Red Rover,” she told us.

Prior to that weekend, I don’t think I played Red Rover since grade school - something not uncommon for the normal population.

Reluctantly, Michelle and I joined hands with some scummy kid and swung our arms half-heartedly.

“Red Rover, Red Rover - Let Jesus Come Over!” we chanted.

And kids on both teams looked at us, confused.

“That’s right!” we said, scanning the playing field. “Not coming, is he? That’s because he’s not real!”

It was a little ditty we worked up five minutes before when we were hiding inside with everyone’s suitcases.

While certainly entertaining now, that unwittingly made our Jesus camp experience exponentially more uncomfortable because we became the souls everyone wanted to save most.

Michelle ended up doing OK, but try as they may, they could not break my spirit of spite and angst.

From discussing the religious undertones of Phil Collins songs, to the rebirth party we had at 8 p.m. the second night to the prayer bonfire – I just did not give in.

But in case I have a change of heart, there’s still a chance for me – I could attend Ave Maria University’s “Picnic at the Prep.”

Not to be outdone, the Next Level Church of Matthews commemorated the launch of a new campus with a shot glass give-away.

"The glasses, which feature the church logo, an invitation card, and the words "Give Us A Shot", are designed to encourage attendance at the new campus," reads the release.

Now that's a church event I could "come over" for.

Take action...

On Valentine’s Day last year, I told my friends that I was going to borrow my neighbor’s dog, slip on an icy sidewalk and inspire the latest rom-com blockbuster when a handsome, yet mysterious, stranger helped me up.

But I put that idea on hold when someone I had been dating for a few weeks called and asked if I was interested in a low-key night. It was a Tuesday and I don’t think he had any idea it was Feb. 14.

Nearly an hour into the night - after turning down my repeated drink offerings - he told me, “I don’t drink. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

I was in a little bit of a dating dry spell at the time and I said to myself, “Well hey - a recovering alcoholic is better than a straight-up alcoholic.”

Besides, I was in no position to judge because I had just finished telling a story about how I took a hip hop class at my gym and danced right into a punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the work out room.

“The whole dance was terrible,” I told him. “By the end of the class the teacher was practically holding my hand and shouting ‘5-6-7-8!’ in my face. I was like, ‘Hey Hadas, I might be a slow learner, but I’m not deaf!”

As it turns out, he knew Hadas and I had to backtrack about how “energetic” she was.

Anyway, an hour later, after sharing horror stories of apartments past, he said, “This place I’m in now isn’t great, but at least it’s better than where I came from.”

“Oh? Where did you come from?” I asked.

“A halfway house,” he said flatly.

I was expecting him to say “New Jersey.”

From there, he launched into a big story about how he was a cocaine addict and to quit using he tried to move to different cities so that he wouldn’t know where to buy. While in Chicago, he got arrested by an undercover cop and spent the night in jail. When he got out, it was the middle of the night and it was freezing, so he checked himself into a mental hospital. And now, here he is – sitting in my living room enjoying a cup of tea and a toasted, buttered scone.

Stories like this are precisely the reason why I take issue with BadOnlineDates.com’s “Bold 8 Dating Makeover” tip #2 – “Now take action ... Move out of your comfort zone and try something new ... hobbies, a different market or going to a local bar ALONE and striking up a conversation with someone new ... Feel nervous? Great. Do that what you fear and your fear will die.”

First of all, I had this exact idea last January and look where it got me – perched on the edge of the couch ready to sprint out of my own apartment – on Valentine’s Day no less.

Second, the writers at BadDatesOnline could stand to familiarize themselves with the mighty period (“.”). Just one does the job better than three strung together. For example:

• I attract winners.
  vs.
• I attract winners…

See the difference? Do you???

Finally, advice like this should come with a disclaimer. Something like, “*Not responsible for sexually transmitted diseases; Tips not intended for use in conjunction with MySpace.com.”

Regardless, I’m not going to fall for this “take action” trap two years in a row. This Valentine’s Day, I’m going to stick to walking dogs in snowstorms. Strangers who will help you up can’t be nearly as bad.

A spoonful of smart.

Two women in my shared workspace were comparing the nutritional value of two types of instant oatmeal today.

Carb-for-carb, I think the Quaker packet came out on top.

At the time they were talking, I could be observed eating peanut butter by the tablespoon right out of the jar.

It seems they didn’t get the message from the University of Pittsburgh and the University of California.

Never mind all those details about Omega-this and fleshy fish-that or the fact that the research didn’t really do anything besides correlate being "curvy" and having “higher” test scores – it turns out that being fat can make your kids smart.

Does your oatmeal do that?

Derailing the first date train

I noticed that eHarmony issued some practical dating advice with their “5 Bad Habits that Tank First Dates” list.

“If you find yourself tanking first dates too often, then try to avoid these habits that can derail the first-date train before it even gets going,” reads the article.

1. Don’t monopolize the conversation.
2. Don’t “Over-Share.”
3. Don’t try to be someone you’re not.
4. Don’t propose.
5. Don’t ignore clues.

I’d tend to agree – I wouldn’t recommend proposing and who doesn’t love clues? But being far less generous than eHarmony, I would probably identify these first date train wrecks and block them from using the service so that normal people wouldn't have to deal with them.

But since I can't do that, I would like to add a few notes, which were inspired by real events that took place on some of my favorite first dates.

1. Don’t make excuses.

The only thing worse than having someone cancel a date because he locked his keys in his car is knowing that he canceled the previous date because he had sunburn.

Please note these excuses fall somewhere in between “My car window won’t roll up,” and “My mom’s dog ate a Brillo pad,” on the excuse continuum.

2. Cut your losses.

My truly intolerable dates are the ones that keep giving long after the dinner is over.

I once met a man for a single drink and when I didn’t return his phone calls afterwards, he followed up by sending me a digital photo in which he was dressed in a unitard and feather boa on Halloween, a link to the Crush Calculator and a text message that said, “Just got out of jail.”

“I don’t have to reply to this, do I?” I asked my roommate.

To which she replied, “You do – if only for my entertainment!”

So for the fair price of $1, she paid me to text back, “OMG R-U-OK WTF BBQ Y?” where the “BBQ” definitely stood for barbecue.

3. Don’t punch anyone.

I was once on a first date with someone who told me, “Some of my friends are going to drop by.” And sure enough, our table for two eventually seated four extra people who all got wrapped up talking about high school.

Not having much to contribute to the conversation, I kept quiet until my date told me, “You better start talking – or I’m going to punch you in the face with shit on my knuckles!”

4. Don’t use racial slurs.

Don’t think for a second that Shitty Knucks was my worst date.

No, that prize would go to an investment banker, who during a first date – on which he invited another couple – referred to me as a four letter word that means “hairy Italian woman.”

In case you are ever faced with these situations and other dating blunders, I advise carrying a pocket-sized notebook, excusing yourself to use the restroom and taking copious notes to maintain a record of all of your encounters – if only to flesh out the bad behavior continuum.

And “if only for my entertainment!”

Coffee - cream and sugar... and cat poop.

To keep myself entertained as a teenager, I would play a game called “How much shit can I get Daddy to put in his coffee” at meal times.

As its name implies, the game centered on convincing my father to add unconventional items to his coffee. In its earliest stages, my mother would pay me $1 for the battles I won: mint ice cream, yogurt, sprinkles, whipped cream, chocolate syrup and strawberry preserves.

“This is getting ridiculous,” my mother told me. “I don’t think we should play any more.”

Of course, I was moving to college at that point and her change of heart seemed conveniently timed. Plus, when I came home for visits, she still played the game - she just didn’t pay me a dollar for the chocolate chip cookie, or crumb cake, or the butter. The possibilities were endless, really.

One year for Christmas, I received a tub of chocolate rice snack cookies.

“Do NOT ask your father to put those in his coffee,” my mother told me as I was opening the tub. “I mean it, not with the company here!”

But my father needed very little convincing to throw in a handful. And when they floated to the top of his cup like cereal in milk, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh you’re up to something!” my dad yelled. “These aren’t for coffee. I don’t know why I listen to you!”

Trying to avoid a fight, my mother came into the room, picked up the tub and examined the label. “Yep, it says right here: May add to coffee or tea,” she pretended to read.

Then she pointed to the cartoon moose on the front of the package, “See, the moose is holding a coffee cup!”

“Oh, good,” my father said, satisfied with the explanation.

Later, as we were doing the dishes, my mother picked up a coffee cup and said, “You always know which cup is your father’s. It’s the one with all the shit on the bottom.”

Now, thanks to this WZZM video clip, I know how to take our game to the next level and see how much shit my father really will drink.

One ticket to New York, hold the turtles.

For a brief moment, I was concerned that I would run out of personal anecdotes to arbitrarily pair with press releases. But then I reminded myself that I regularly take the Chinatown bus between New York and Philadelphia, and there’s no chance of running out of material as long as that bus line is in order.

Take this past week’s trip, when my friend and I returned to New York after the holiday with approximately 45 pounds of my luggage.

“I’ll buy the tickets, you just sit down,” I said to my friend as I handed him my over-packed suitcase and a portable sewing machine.

But after I bought the tickets, the woman behind the counter told me, “Next bus is in ten minutes.”

“What about that bus?” I asked, pointing to the bus my friend just boarded.

“No New York,” she said.

So I got on the bus, walked halfway down the aisle, waved at my friend and said, “Come on. This bus isn’t going to New York.”

And half the bus – including my friend – replied, “It’s not?!” in unison.

So I left to ask the clerk again and she assured me the bus was not going to New York, which prompted practically every passenger to de-board.

“I like that no one listened to me the first time,” I said to my friend.

“Oh that,” he said. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Even you!’ I said. “Even you didn’t listen to me! God. Not one person thought I was right.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said.

“What’s with these people? Is it so hard to believe that I might be right?”

“OK, don’t get mad,” he started. “But on your way off the bus, I maybe told people not to listen to you.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Yeah, I said, ‘Don’t listen to her. She drinks.’”

“She drinks?!”

“They all laughed!” he insisted. “It was funny!”

Then he added, “Come on. It’s the Chinatown bus!”

And finally, “OK, I just didn’t want to lug the suitcase back up the aisle.”

Perhaps instances like this should factor into Access America’s next quarterly index measuring the frustration levels of American travelers.

“Based on a survey of more than 1,000 adults -- all of whom had traveled for business or leisure in the past quarter -- the aggregated hassle factor came in at 3.9 out of a possible 10, down from 4.1 in the year's third quarter,” reads the release.

Clearly, no respondents have been traveling on the Chinatown bus, where the “hassle factor” most certainly is greater than that of the DMV and Planned Parenthood clinic combined. In fact, based on this past trip, which after a lot of waiting on the sidewalk eventually ended with us boarding the original bus, and a previous trip that involved someone selling baby turtles in terrariums straight out of a garbage bag , I’d estimate my hassle factor to be at least a 9.99. The .01 is being held in case I ever get on a bus with an animal that gets out of its cage.

Anyway, according to the release, the two biggest complaints from travelers this past quarter is the price of gas and airport/airline service – both of which seem a small inconvenience considering that gas stations and airports generally don’t have turtle salespeople.

At the very least, they do something about the alcoholics.

Lions and Tigers and Sharks - Oh my!

Two years ago, six of my girlfriends and I took a trip to the Dominican Republic. While we were there, we decided to book a snorkeling trip, despite only half of us knowing how to swim.

The guide told us, "First you swim around the reef and watch hundreds of fish during feeding time. Then you go into a cage and see nurse sharks and sting rays."

I said to my friends, "Guys, I don't know how comfortable I am with getting in a cage with sharks!"

And my friend said, "Oh how ridiculous! You don't get in a cage with sharks. You get in a cage and the sharks are on the outside!"

And everyone one else laughed and agreed.

But I assure you, they were not laughing several hours later when we flopped into plastic enclosure in the middle of the ocean and found ourselves face-to-face with two sharks.

So my girlfriends and I clung to each other for dear life and made our way back to the opening of the cage kicking and screaming as one solid mass.

Please don't be the person who says, "Oh they were just nurse sharks!" While that’s true, I think a shark of any kind could do some damage when the only thing I have to defend myself is a water noodle.

And really don't be the person who says, "Sharks aren't aggressive! As long as they're well fed, they won't bother you!" because that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. They're sharks.

Here's how I see it: If I were a nurse shark, and I was swimming around in the ocean, minding my own business and someone caught me and put me in a pen, I'd be pretty annoyed. Then when they had the nerve to throw in seven screaming American girls who are getting all tangled up in life preservers, I'd be thinking, “Maybe I should just bite something.”

Anyone who disagrees may want to check in with Tatiana the Tiger in San Francisco.