This article was inspired by SheWonHeWon.com, a new photoblog where you vote for who got the short end of the stick in a relationship. Check it out!

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss. Read the full story

Popularity: 2% [?]

So there you are, innocently battering pedestrians with a bus in Grand Theft Auto when you hear that dreaded, menacing sound; a warning of sorts, it’s the closest thing to a rattlesnake’s “chchchchchch” that mankind has yet evolved. The hair on your arms stands on end, your body tenses, your butt cheeks clench, and your palms begin to sweat. You feel your toes begin to push down on the ground slightly, ready to run (instinctively you opt for the “flight” over the “fight” because you’re a pansy). You try to ignore it, but it just gets louder and louder, unwilling to bear your charade of ignorance. Finally, the sound reaches a volume and tone that elicits your response, a reflex aimed at self-preservation.

“Schnuckums!? Are you listening to me?”

“Uh…” You say, your voice waivering. “Yeah babe, I hear you.”

“Are you ready?” the predator bellows, baiting the prey.

“Ready for what… beautiful?” You reply, hoping that somehow the interrogative will provide you an escape while tossing in the compliment at the end to ease the delivery, like the flavoring those bastards put in NyQuil.

“Don’t even try that crap on me. Get off your ass. We’re going shopping.” The snare tightens around your feet. You’ve been caught. Resistance is now futile.

Now that you’ve been reduced to the status of indentured servant, there are a few things you must remember in order to survive. The full moon that is a monthly sale has turned your once kind, sweet girlfriend into a vicious, bloodthirsty monster. A wereshopper, if you will. Like a lycanthrope, but much more subtle in its preferred murderous methods.  You’re about to venture into a dark, dangerous place. Stick with me, and you’ll be stronger, more courageous, and not single when it’s over. Welcome to the jungle.

Read the full story

Popularity: 17% [?]

Ladies, I’m going to go ahead and clue you in to a little secret that is guaranteed to strengthen your relationship with your beau, or boo, or whatever the hell you want to call your boy toy. That’s right. This is TTM: Cosmo Edition.

There’s a little phenomenon I’ve noticed among women that I’ve found troublingly pervasive. It seems to be like some kind of mental infection. I guess they call that insanity, huh? Anyway, girl after girl, all over the country, they seem to suffer from the same disturbing delusion that is destroying more relationships every day. It is this delusion, not the gays, that is responsible for the degradation of marriage in today’s society.

The habitual crime is thus: Women believe that it is funny to men when they use fake accents.

Oh my gawd! I sound British, but I'm not! Hahahahahaahhaha!!!!!!1

I’m going to begin with the cold hard truth, ladies. Your accents – British, French Russian, whatever Asian accent it is that you think you’re doing – are not funny to men. Your girlfriends may laugh, but your girlfriends also like Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson movies. Do you see what I’m saying? Follow the logical progression here. Read the full story

Popularity: 28% [?]

spelling "hot" incorrectly means it's sexier

Man, look at her over there, being all hott and stuff. Mmmm hmmm, hott with two t’s. Don’t you wish you could talk to her? Maybe for extended periods of time, perhaps via a telephonic device? That sounds like a fun idea. But how do you get to that point? It’s a treacherous trail to blaze, son. If you’re a total sissy, I mean. Then it’s treacherous. If you’re a sweet master of romance like myself, it’s just another phone number for my little black book. And by “little” I mean “the size of most dictionaries.”

You’re going to want to print this guide out, fold it up, and put it in your wallet. Discreetly pull it out and unfold it when you’re at a bar, a coffee shop, or Victoria’s Secret, having with you a step by step guide to getting that babe’s digits. Another idea – this is progressive, but it’ll show you’ve got heart – tattoo a summarized list on your forearm. That way, when you get this chick’s numero (that’s number in Spanish) and you fall in love Eharmony-style, you can show her that tatt and say “baby, that’s how bad I wanted to know your mind.” She’ll be gushing, friend. Gushing. It’s time. Walk with me. Read the full story

Popularity: 41% [?]

Yes, we’re aware this article style was copied from The Onion.  Yes, we’re okay with that.

Point: Sweet, this chick totally wants to make out with me.

By: Fratboy Chad

Oh yeah.  It’s gonna happen.  I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life (except maybe my sexual orientation: All straight, all the time, baby!).  This isn’t even a question, it’s science.  It is scientifically impossible for an 18-45 year old female to be this close to me in a dimly lit room without making out with me.  I may not know much, but I know one thing, this chick is jonesing to get her tonsils tickled.

Trust me on this one.  If past experiences have taught me anything it’s this: (1) Axe Phoenix was definitely the right choice in body spray this evening and (2) we’re about t-minus thirty seconds from some good old-fashioned tongue wrestling.

How do I know this, you ask?  It’s just simple math: dinner at Chili’s – anything with onions + killer Dane Cook impression + feigned interest in women’s basketball/water polo/rights – presence of roommates + movie with semi-romantic plot involving an orphan and a soul patch sporting Robin Williams = mind-blowing makeout seshy.

Works every time.

Look at little Miss Coy there, pretending to care about this stupid movie, pretending she doesn’t want a taste of this Orbit Mango Surf gum I’m chewing, pretending she doesn’t notice that our hips are now touching when they were twelve inches apart when the movie started.  She’s good, but not good enough.

Her playful game might fool a hook-up rookie or a sober person, but not the Chadasaurus Rex.   I’ve been around long enough to know that “no” can only mean two things: “yes” or “try harder”.  It almost isn’t fair.  With the Axe, the American Eagle graphic tee, the distressed jeans, and the recent bicep workout, this broad never had a chance.

Dammit Robin Williams! Say something funny so I can get my arm around her while I pretend to laugh.  Man, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s washed up comedians salting my game.  No matter.  Even Robin Williams can’t stop what nature has set in motion.  Let’s face it, this chick came here for one thing and one thing only: inter-face.

And inter-face she will have.

Counterpoint: Wow!  August Rush is a Really Great Movie!

By: Sarah Elizabeth

Oh my gosh, I looove this movie! That little boy is so cute!  He’s such a good little actor and he was so good in Finding Neverland.  I’m super excited that we’re watching it- and I can’t believe Chad wanted to see it too. I totally missed it at the theaters, but this is even better cause it’s the 2 disc DVD where the little boy talks about learning to play the guitar.

I think the only thing that could make this better is if we were sitting in the living room and watching it on their huge HD TV instead of on his twin bed, on his Macbook.  Apparently, “It’s better this way.”

Wow.  Keri Russell looks so pretty in this movie, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers?  Break me off a piece of that.  And what ab – aww, this is the part where the little boy sings! Bless his heart! He is such a cutie.  He just wants to find his parents and just plays his little guitar with all of his heart.  What a sweet story.  I wish we had some better speakers; it’s hard to appreciate the music when Chad and I are sharing the same pair of ear buds.

I still can’t believe he actually wanted to watch this.  He told me, “Chadmeister loves him some good cinema and he knows he’s going to heart this movie.” I hope he can see okay.  He keeps scooting closer every couple minutes.  He probably just doesn’t have enough room.  It is a pretty small bed. Also, I’m pretty sure he has Transformers sheets.  But that’s neither here nor there.

Oh, the little boy is singing again!  I just love this movie!!

Thanks to Libby Magliolo for contributing the Counterpoint part of this article.  When she is not watching August Rush, Libby runs The Poptimist, an excellent blog covering all the coolest stuff you never knew existed

Popularity: 53% [?]

true love is hearts and circles shooting out of your head.

Yes, yes, I know. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent some time together, talking through our problems and becoming better people. I apologize for the hiatus of my massive wisdom. I’ve been busy writing my autobiography How to Cope with Being Awesome: The Life of Conor McCarthy. I’ve finally finished all 1200 pages of that though, and it’s time to get back to helping you navigate this horrifying labyrinth that is your everyday life. Today I’m going to guide you through the section of this maze that we call the First Date with some succulent bread crumbs of advice. Romance is near, friends. Walk with me.

First Things First
You’re already ahead of the game in that you’re going on a date at all.  You landed a phone number (most likely) and a date, so you at least have that trophy. No one can take that from you, even if your date decides that you’re “the creepiest guy she’s ever met” and that you “have the style of a Las Vegas street performer.” She’s a stinky skank anyway. (Yeah, that’s right Susan. Stinky. Like a petting zoo.) I’m going to split this guide into a section for the ladies and a section for the gentlemen. The first date experience is different for both genders, just like urinating. Read the full story

Popularity: 54% [?]

Two months ago, after nearly three years of semi-monogamous partnership, I parted ways with the Anglican church I have attended since my Junior year of college.  It was an amicable separation accompanied by none of the status updates, bitter texts, and Hallmark-fueled bonfires that so often color my breakups.  I felt that each of us had taken all that the other had to give, and we owed it to ourselves to end it before I started signing up for pot lucks and volunteering for nursery duty.

So, after three years in a committed relationship, I’m back on the church market.  Since Wheaton is the ecumenical equivalent of Cancun at Spring Break (i.e. lots of options in all different colors, shapes, sizes, and languages), I’m not too concerned about finding a suitable church home.  But I do have one question that has been lingering in the back of my mind ever since I started playing the parochial field.  The question is this: Is the presence or absence of a thriving population of attractive, single females an acceptable standard by which to judge a church? Read the full story

Popularity: 59% [?]

Let’s get one thing straight from the get-go: this guide isn’t written from personal experience. I am from Texas and Kent is from Texas’ attic (also known as Oklahoma) and everybody knows people south of the Mason-Dixon line are born with a certain charm that the ladies can’t resist. Top that off with starting our own awesome, super successful, multi-million dollar humor franchise and, well, let’s just say we don’t need this guide. Two women once fist fought each other in a bar over getting Kent’s email address. Not even his phone number. This other chick straight tackled me and begged me to go out on a date with her and her twin sister. That’s right. Loving the life we live, living the life we love. They call me LL Cool C for a reason. Anyway, enough about me and my totally serious, completely real and non-delusional life.

And another thing: Although Kent and I are undoubtedly irresistible and statuesque, we’re also not condoning fornication or promiscuity. We’re good Christian boys and we’re also afraid of children and gonorrhea. I’m here to teach you how to get a date and maybe even a really sloppy french kiss that was probably better in your imagination. Read the full story

Popularity: 37% [?]

Like most guys out there, I consider it my God-given duty as a man to bring some objectivity to the world of physical attraction and sex-appeal.  If you ask the average male (i.e. me), he’ll tell you there are far too many emotional, inexact terms like “cute,” smokin,” “squirrely,” and “busty” floating around.  These terms do nothing but confuse us.  We can’t measure them, we can’t make comparisons.  How do I compare a “clinically insane” girl with a “medically unstable” one?  What does the term voluptuous mean? What is the distinction between a slammin hottie and a smokin one?

It is because of these ambiguities that men will do things like, for example, sit in a crowded cafeteria and ascribe numerical value to the relative attractiveness of passing females.  It’s not because we’re shallow, it’s because we’re scientists.  We need absolutes, we need facts, we need scales from 1-10.  It means nothing to us for someone say that our girlfriend possesses an above average level of physical appeal.  However, if we are told she is a 7.8 (possibly as high as an 8.3 in the summertime and on Sundays) our hearts swell with pride as we know once and for all that yes, she is hotter than Johnnie’s girlfriend. Read the full story

Popularity: 11% [?]