Oh for the world has been so long without my shallow wisdom...

On the eve of a summer's night, my anticipation mounted as the man of my dreams pulled his midnight colored, stallion of a vehicle into the parking lot. I watched from my perch at the wine bar,fingers fumbling with the hem of my dress. My cheeks flushed with the sight of his freshly shaven baldness as it rose from behind the opened door. Had I finally found my Shakespearean romance? Was it possible to love someone after three dates?

Horror struck! Following the head that I loved was the puke color of a Mecca shirt....a Mecca shirt?? How did this atrocity survive the 10 years in this man's closet? Had he fed it left over scraps under the table? It damn near looked like a living green blob rippling across his chest.

Okay...okay...but I liked him. I liked him a lot. I would kill the green blob when he wasn't looking and all would be well in the world again. I plotted its demise. By bleach? Or maybe by fire? Yes, yes bleach and fire would do.

I calmed myself with deep breaths and thoughts of the dead blob. I had been looking at my glass of wine as he walked up, trying to complete my murderous plan. I snapped back around in my chair and straightened my dress as he walked in the door, and there it was. Jean Shorts. He must have broken the iron and paid a visit to the printing press to get that surfboard-like hardness. And the loop....I mean where is the hammer? If you are going to have a loop on your jeans, aren't you supposed to have a hammer?

I went into madness. How could I possibly murder the green blob and the monster in the closet? It was just too much for one woman to handle alone. Was this how my knight in shining armor dressed to impress? Weren't we at the classiest wine bar in town? Maybe I was supposed to meet him at the pool hall. Damn. I would have to call in backup.

Where's the Fashion Police?

Mind the Gap......In Your Teeth

If a gap in your teeth is an unfortunate accessory of your DNA, first you must realize that we non-gap-wearing patrons are not sympathetic to your lack of dental perfection. We may, however, be persuaded to the gap blindness you deserve if you can follow the rules of our gap tolerance.

All it takes is one simple phrase. You may have heard it while in the London Underground or seen it on a graphic tee. But, do not be fooled. It applies to you and can lead to your Gap Blindness success. So...

Mind the Gap.

What does this mean to all of the extra-space-in-the-teeth bearers? Well, here are your guidelines. Write them down. Memorize them, and hold them dear to your heart.

Don't spit through your gap. That's gross.

Always carry a mirror and a toothpick. That big piece of spinach hanging out of your gap after dinner is not attractive. Be prepared to take action.

Whistling through your gap is not a cute trick. It actually creeps me out.

And...finally...if you can fit an 18-wheeler through the space in your teeth, go to the damn dentist. Use your tax return or something! Ask for donations. You gotta get that fixed.


Now that you fully understand the rules, wear your gap with pride (as long as it is not ridiculously humongous...then you should get it fixed) because it can give you a charming uniqueness. And uniqueness is...well...awesome!

Thank you for your time. You've been a great audience!

Jenna Christopher

Hello, Mr. Hamburger Meat!

The curve of his muscles tightened the black leather of his jacket around his bicep. I was enchanted by his smile and the way his lips would move across his teeth when he spoke to the burly man next to him. I moved slowly from my chair to approach, trying to come up with some order to the scrambled words in my head. I slinked across the floor, my black dress brushing my hips, sliding my hand nervously through my hair. I was close enough to hear their conversation now. My mouth was dry, my hands clammy. He rose from his seat, his strong hands stripping the jacket from his shoulders.

I stumbled backwards nearly tripping on the nubby gray carpet. His eyes caught my stare as my face twisted into a horrified expression. I couldn't register his look of confusion, blinded, the curling black hair of his chest was reaching for me, crawling violently out of his white cotton shirt like it had eaten the V-neck collar 2 inches from its original seam. I stuttered and turned my face away from his as I mouthed "OMG" to myself. Suddenly, he grasped my arm and said, "Hi. Ummmm, are you ok?" All I could muster was, "Uh, Hello, Mr. Hamburger Meat"

Jenna Christopher

I Think Your Toe is Staring at Me...

I was already praying to the restaurant god that the clang of dishes and buzz of the dinner crowd would drown out the mindless chatter of my date. With a yawn of boredom, I twiddled my fork on the plate, rolling my eyes with every mention of the Laker game. The gray of his shirt grated my nerves with the way it twitched at the collar when he chewed. I thought to myself, "How can you blame the shirt for annoying you when it is definitely this guy's lack of interesting conversation that has you ready to escape through the kitchen?" I was giggling, which I am sure he thought was in response to his lame attempt at entertaining me, when I felt this burning in my peripheral vision.

My eyes wondered from his button-down to the curve of his fingers as he held his fork like a shovel. Still I couldn't help the feeling that someone was staring at me. Now talking about the new Droid applications he downloaded, I searched the crowd for my culprit. I found only the uninterested profiles of the restaurant patrons, clearly ignoring my dating fiasco. Then, suddenly, it appeared! This scary, hairy, barking dog of a toe from under the table! I moved my black heels slowly underneath my chair to avoid collision. Carefully lifting the tablecloth, I unveiled the horror. FLIP FLOPS!!!

Fighting the urge to run while screaming, I felt the look of disgust consume my facial features. Those bony toes were staring right up at me, yet my date continued to yap about how his car had GPS. I snarfed down the rest of my pasta, texted myself to have an excuse to leave, and apologized for the rush. The swarm of fresh air washed over me with a sigh of relief as my hand pushed the door open into the dim light of the parking lot. With an anxious look over my shoulder, the toes were gone.

Rule: Men don't wear flip flops in public. Period. Your toes are staring at me! It's gross...


Jenna Christopher

I am not chocolate cake...or a 5 year old...I'm just sayin...

There is one word that is absolutely not available for your vocabulary use when talking to a woman. YUMMY. I have been called this word such a ridiculous amount of times that I actually pondered whether or not it was some "fad" that I just wasn't hip to. Say the word to yourself. Yes. Say it right now.

Yuuuummmmmyyyyyyy.


The sound of the word actually makes me throw up in my mouth a little. I am not food. I promise.

When commenting on my facebook picture, do not use this word. You will surely get the delete button clicked on you promptly. When texting me about how you can't wait to see me, do not end the text with this word. I guarantee this will not get you laid. Matter of fact, if you ever call me....yuck...I can't even bring myself to type the word again...you will definitely NEVER get my goodies.

So guys...since I am not chocolate cake or a 5 year old, never let that word escape your mouth. It will only end in dating disaster. I'm just sayin'.


Jenna Christopher

Real men don't cry...and if you do...lie about it.

If the movie Armageddon makes your tear ducts leak, don't admit it over Starbucks. Our coffee conversation is not a confessional. Matter of fact, if you feel your eyes swell with tears of embarrassment during our movie date, I'm going to suggest that you fake some allergies and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Crying is a sign of weakness, and when I said I wanted a man with a "sensitive side", I meant a man who brings me flowers once in awhile...not a big whiny baby wuss.

Real men don't cry. So if you do, lie about it.

Jenna Christopher

If you show up to the date and you're ugly...I'm leaving.

Whether we want to admit it or not, physical attraction is a BIG DEAL! So, don't misrepresent yourself. The Internet is a vast ocean of dating potential. We network online, meet people, get to know their entire lives by their facebook wall posts, and ultimately decide we want to take that next step of meeting "in person" by what they type and how their picture looks. So, if that picture is from 1998 when you were graduating high school, don't post it like it was taken yesterday. I guarantee when your date shows up to that quaint Italian restaurant you decided to take her to with an extra 20 pounds on your gut and a few gray hairs in your beard, she's gonna be running for the hills. It gives us the impression that you are a liar, a player, and no woman wants to KNOWINGLY go into a relationship like that. I get that it is all about putting your best foot forward, but sometimes that foot needs to stay in the boot, with a sock on....a really thick thermal sock.

Same goes for all you friends out there who think it will be fun to set us lowly single people up on blind dates. The whole "He's got a great personality!" is a red flag that this guy is gonna need a paper bag over his face to be able to be seen in public with me. I love when my friends use the word "cute". What does that mean really? He looks like a poodle? Or maybe he just isn't good looking enough to be considered "HOT" so we have to use the word "cute" as in he's not COMPLETELY ugly. Just give it to me straight people.

There's someone out there for everybody. I am just not your someone. So, don't misrepresent yourself because if you show up to the date and you're ugly...I'm leaving!


Jenna Christopher