1. never text your boyfriend/or ANYONE for that matter, that you got home safe while you’re walking from your car to your house. Wait till you ACTUALLY get safely inside.

2.one of my favorite weird moments during a make-out sesh is the classic: ‘what are you thinking about?’ ‘Nothing. What are YOU thinking about?’ ‘Nothing.’ (Silence; as both minds continue to reel. Kissing resumes.)

3. don’t ignore all the good stuff and only zero in on the assholes and shit talkers. Rise above. Like that song by candy from real housewives of atlanta.

4. is thinking in terms of ‘forever’ detrimenral to a relationship… or romantic?

5. no one ever says, i wanna be a junkie when i grow up. except for those annoying kids at school who are like all crying out for attention and want to sound all dangerous and badass or whatevs. you know, like all my ex boyfriends!

6. no one ever says, ‘when i grow up, i wanna be an american apparel model.’ who am i kidding?! of course they do! they shouldnt, but they do!

7. just like you shouldn’t refer to something that’s lame as ‘gay’ you shouldnt refer to someone you think is weak as ‘a pussy’. It’s insulting to women. i mean, that’s what some girl e-mailed me… but i’ll probably keep calling people pussies for at least six more months.

8.  balloon animals are sooooo phallic! Keep them away from your kidz you weirdo creeps!

9. most of the time people are so annoying that it’s weird when I actually sit down next to people at a cafe or wherevs, overhear their conversation, and instead of cringing, think ‘these people are ok. if i wasn’t at friend capacity, I might almost like them enough to consider being friends. almost.’

10. I’m sorry, I tried, but I don’t believe in wearing full coverage undies when wearing jeans. I only wear tight jeans, and full coverage undies would show, thus creating visible panty lines. so, ALWAYS wear thongs/g-strings/whatever you wanna call them, when wearing pants or leggings. BUT always have a super sexy pair of red or black or blush colored normal/low rider/hipster/ proper non thong undies in your purse to change into at the drop of a hat in case you end up in someone’s bedroom rolling around topless and intertwined.

PS: Watch me get strangled by aubrey plaza in a blanket of pink mist…

pps: tweet @FATHERJOHNMISTY and ask him who this song was inspired by…

ppps: follow me on twitter @imboycrazy 

pppps: i love you

CALL ME TONIGHT…

WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 1, 2012

DURING BOYCRAZY RADIO

9PM PST/12AM EST

JUST CLICK HERE TO LISTEN

DIAL:

1(646) 378-0649

OR CALL TOLL FREE:

1(877) 569-3588

ps: if you’re in another country,

you can call me using gmail or skype!

pps: if you can’t call during the show,

leave me a message on my NEW toll free

‘boycrazy voice-mailbox’ 1(888)666-2045

we’ll bro out, role play,

and discuss ALL your love, sex, dating,

and life dilemmas!

2. sometimes you just have to rip it off like a band-aide and do something that’s sad but ultimately the best thing for your life/needs/overall happiness.

3. I hate how dogs always know you’re having your period.. and that you hate dogs.

4. 2012 is all about bold splashes of color on your face. By that, I mean red lipstick… not infected sperm.

5. sometimes all you wanna hear are beautiful things… Even if they’re all lies.

6. you’re not allowed to make fun of people for things that they were born with/can’t change. However, when it comes to bad choices they make while living their life… go right ahead and make fun of them all you want!

7. ear plugs are very oc. 2012 is all about shrinking, and ultimately closing up your plugs.

8. please don’t ride a motorcycle.

9. but I don’t WANT to be ‘linked in’.

10. you can’t take advice from people you don’t respect/or whose lifestyle choices you don’t agree with. but isn’t funny how ok these people are about doling out advice?

JOIN THE I’M BOYCRAZY CONVERSATION! 

IF YOU WANNA SUBMIT SOMETHING, I’D LOVE TO SEE IT AND POST IT!

I PREFER VIDEO SUBMISSIONS- UNDER 3 MINUTES:

AND THIS DOESN’T MEAN YOU SEXY/SILLY DANCING IN FRONT OF YOUR COMPUTER!

TELL ME SOMETHING! WHAT ARE YOU FEELING/NOTICING?

WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? WHAT’S BOTHERING YOU?

E MAIL ME @ boycrazyalexi@gmail.com

write ‘make it YOURS monday’ in the heading (for videos)

OR ‘reader submission’ (for written submissions)

PS:

• follow me on twitter @imboycrazy

• call me and leave a voice message: 888 666-2045

(ask me a question, tell me a secret, or say something neat)

I LOVE YOU

CALL ME TONIGHT…

WEDNESDAY JANUARY 25, 2012

DURING BOYCRAZY RADIO

9PM PST/12AM EST

JUST CLICK HERE TO LISTEN

DIAL:

1(646) 378-0649

OR CALL TOLL FREE:

1(877) 569-3588

ps: if you’re in another country,

you can call me using gmail or skype!

pps: if you can’t call during the show,

leave me a message on my NEW toll free

‘boycrazy voice-mailbox’ 1(888)666-2045

we’ll bro out, role play,

and discuss ALL your love, sex, dating,

and life dilemmas!

I’ve decided to jump back into the world of online dating. I joined Match.com in hopes of finding the perfect: fun loving, adventurous, down to earth, easy going, outgoing, passionate about music, loves to go out but also enjoys staying in, sassy and smart, new-to-this-whole-online-dating-thing-and-still-thinks-it-weird-but-thought-she’d-give-it-a-try girl. I chose Match.com over some of the free alternatives like Plenty of Fish because I appreciate the commitment it takes to give out your credit card information and spend 25 bucks a month to find love.

Before I get into my first Match date, I’d like to say one more thing regarding the profiles. I’ve already ranted about these in my 10 Things I Hate About Online Dating blog, but there’s a new epidemic that needs to be addressed. To quickly add one more to the list . . .

11.  The Dog Pictures

Not the ones of you and your dog, the pictures of JUST your dog. You know who would enjoy seeing photos of the cute terrier spaniel mix you “rescued”? Other fucking chicks. Not dudes.

Despite a seemingly pessimistic attitude, I still get excited over the prospect of finding my “soulmate”.  And so it began.

She was a blue-eyed beauty named Kelly0584. She messaged me first, saying how much she enjoyed the documentary King of Kong (it’s in my profile). She had a pale complexion, contrasted with dark brown hair. I thought she looked like Zooey Deschanel, who is easily the most underrated hot celebrity. She was also an aspiring writer who has her own blog. I was in love. Unable to control my excitement, I emailed her picture to my friend Dustin, telling him about the date we were soon to go on. I chose a particular shot in which she especially resembled Zooey, boasting about how I’d found the next best thing. “She’s either hot or she’s not hot” he ambiguously replied. I stared blankly at his words on my computer screen for a minute or so, trying to decipher what he meant by this. Surely there was something in between hot and not she could be, like “cute”.

We agreed to meet at Bosa Nova, the only restaurant in Hollywood I’m familiar with, even after living there for two years. I pulled up at 7:20, ten minutes before our arranged meeting time, and received a text from my future girlfriend saying, ”Work is crazy ugh! running a little late, can we push it back to 7:45?”. I told her it was no problem and turned the ignition back on so I could listen to the radio. At 7:40, I checked my reflection in the rear view mirror one last time before stepping out and walking down to the restaurant. The hostess who greeted me said there was no wait for a party of two, so I told her I was expecting my date to arrive any minute. She suggested I sit outside. It was a beautiful night.

At 7:50 I received another text. “Moving just as fast as I can! traffic is ridiculous, be there in 15″. Reading this, I felt a wave of relief. For ten minutes I could relax and not worry about doing my best James Dean impression while posing on the wooden benches out front. I slumped into a more comfortable sitting position and stopped checking out every dark-haired girl walking by to see if it was her. I looked through the emails on my phone and actually read them instead of just making my cool reading face. Finally, when ten minutes passed, I went back to James Dean mode. Unsure of which direction she might be coming from, and not wanting to look like a spaz jerking his head left to right every two seconds, I popped the collar of my Euro jacket and stared into the distance, furrowing my eyebrows as if deep and meaningful thoughts filled my head. At 8:10, another text: ”So sorry, almost there, 10 more minutes”. I started to grow impatient and care less about my looks.

At 8:20, fifty minutes late and fifty pounds overweight, she arrived. She had a huge, wide, fat head that seemed almost cartoonish. I figured she was an ex-body builder and the gigantism was a side effect of the steroids. She was sloppy, and frumpy, and out of breath from the fifteen feet she had to walk from the valet service. Instead of imagining the song we’d first dance to at our wedding, I now wondered whether she’d be worth calling at 2 a.m. after twelve beers. Deciding that my drunk dialing list could always use another name, I sat down to find out what was in that God-awful large head of hers. Despite being completely turned off by this girl the instant we met face to giant fat face, I still sought her approval. I wanted her to walk away thinking I’m a catch.

They placed us beneath a hot white light that beamed down on the shiny surface of our bright orange wooden table. To the left of us sat an older couple just three feet away, separated by a giant metal heater that raged on with the fires of Mordor. Even though I’d written off this date, I still wanted to maintain my mystique, so I kept my Euro jacket on despite the aurora borealis looming over our heads. I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead and flipped to the back of the menu for the beer selections.

“Can I get you guys something to drink?” our server asked with a midwest accent. Fat Zooey jumped at this, sparking up a conversation about her home town of Alabama, or somewhere around there. They gabbed like old friends, making me feel as if I should offer up my seat to the waitress and see if she was fixin for a nice glass of sweet tea. I sat back watching the two talk and wondered how I could’ve been so deceived by this girl’s pictures. We all try to pick the most flattering images we can find to represent ourselves. I had a lot of shots where I’m doing that 3/4 head turn to conceal my double chin. I also had a few shots taken indoors with the flash, which seems to wash out everything and hide a lot of the unflattering details the spot light above me was sure to pick up. Still though, she was fat. That’s just a flat-out lie. I merely manipulated the truth. The equivalent to this would be for me to post a bunch of photos where I have a beanie or a hat on, then show up with a hairline resembling Fraser Crane’s. She even had a couple full body shots in her pictures, including one with her and all her friends, giving what I thought to be an accurate sense of scale. To make matters worse, in all of her emails she always managed to find a way to slip in the fact that she was about to go to the gym, or just got back from the gym, or “Really sore from this cardio class that totally kicked my ass!” Which seems counterintuitive, like getting a 900 on your SAT’s and defending your low score by explaining that you studied your ass off for months before taking the test.

Our server returned with a large sangria for Fat Zooey and a Corona for me. We sipped our drinks and looked through the menu. “She’s nice.” I said, referring to her new BFF. ” I don’t know how you do that. . . just spark up a conversation with a stranger . . . I’m not very sociable, I usually find it to be a waste of time . . . I mean, you’re never gonna see these people again, so why bother getting to know them?” I asked rhetorically, shrugging my shoulders and taking a swig of my beer. She nodded politely and finished her Sangria in three massive gulps. When a bus boy came by she ordered another one. We still hadn’t received the complimentary basket of bread.

“So, do you know what you’re gonna get?” I asked, trying to cool things down and find a neutral topic. We then discussed the menu – what we wanted, what looked good, what we’ve tried before. Then, I started up again. I told her I lived in Hollywood for two years and this was the only sit-down restaurant I knew of because I usually just eat fast food. She reached for her straw as I continued. “I hate cooking or preparing food, all the meals I eat at home are the pre-packaged stuff you buy in the freezer section of the grocery store. You know, like chicken nuggets or fish sticks. Sometimes I’ll buy a bag of tortilla chips and shredded cheese, but I’ll be too lazy to put the two in the microwave and make nachos, so I’ll just sprinkle some cheese on a chip and eat it like that, usually over the kitchen sink so I don’t make a mess. Actually, I eat most of my meals over the kitchen sink, that way I don’t have to do dishes.” I smiled uncomfortably at her blank reaction and looked back down at my menu. She asked a server walking by (not ours) for another large sangria, her third.

After we ordered she excused herself to go to the restroom. When she was no longer in sight, I grabbed my napkin and wiped down my sweaty greasy face. My jacket was itchy and uncomfortable and the collar chaffed my neck. I desperately wanted to remove it, but I knew if I did that now she’d know I lied when I said I wasn’t hot. After sweating it out for another minute, I finally took the stupid thing off. I doubted she was smart enough to realize I lied anyways.

When she sat back down, I brought up something she mentioned in her latest blog. “So. . . your sister just had a kid?” I inquired. This turned out to be a success as she talked in circles about it for a good five minutes. She gave the same redundant speech every single girl my age gives – ” I want kids, but not now, some day, not today, but I LOVE kids.” I told her that I worked daycare with Parks and Recreation for four years. “I loved the job, except for the kids… I hated the kids” I explained. She turned quiet until the sound of her slurping sangria broke the silence. “Well, I didn’t hate ALL of them… just most of them… When you think about it, kids are just smaller dumber obnoxious versions of adults.” I reasoned, remembering all the brats I got paid minimum wage to babysit. She grew nervous and kept a watchful eye on my hands, as if they had been strangling sweet innocent children earlier. I found this judgment to be a little unfair because when she thinks kids, she’s thinking about the cute four-year-old that calls her Aunty Kelly and asks her to play tea party. When I think kids, I’m thinking about the little cry-baby throwing a tantrum every time he gets out in dodgeball. Just in time to break the awkward silence, our food arrived. Fat Zooey (curious what her nickname for me at this point might have been) ordered her fourth sangria. I knew this to be the exact number because she was too fast for the bus boys and had accumulated a line of three large, purple stained, empty glasses.

We stopped talking and ate. I anxiously awaited the server to come by after my first bite and ask me “How is everything?” because they always do that shit and I can’t really enjoy my meal until it’s out of the way. Knowing you could be interrogated by a stranger at any moment when you have a mouthful of spaghetti doesn’t make for a pleasant dining experience. “How ya’ll doin? everything alright?” Our southern bell asked us with a much thicker accent now, possibly to get a bigger tip. I gave a thumbs up and a smile, my polite way of shooing her away.

After barely finishing half of my food, too full from adrenaline and angst, I pushed my plate away in an act of submission and sipped my water. Fat Zooey took another bite of her chicken and washed it down with the remains of her fourth sangria. Our server walked by and she lifted a hand, then lazily pointed to the empty glass, now ordering through sign language. A fifth sangria quickly found its way next to the bottomless drinking machine. For a second, I thought about ordering a large beer and playing catch up. Maybe if we both got drunk this might turn out okay. I discretely glanced at my cell phone to find it was already past nine. I still had a half an hour drive back to my apartment and this girl wasn’t worth the DUI. We reverted to small talk again, as if we skipped over the first five minutes of the date and needed to make up for them. “Nice night out.” I commented. “Yeah . . it’s nice” she complied. “Did you park far from here” she asked. “No . . . not to far” I replied.

Once our plates were cleared, I found myself alone at the table as she retreated again to the ladies room. This time I got on my phone. I scrolled through my emails and felt a sting when I saw the ones sent from her. What used to be my most cherished notes, notes that would make my heart skip a beat with anticipation before opening to read, were now junk mail. Emails from Netflix letting me know what DVD’s were coming Thursday bared more relevance. My life returned to the mundane routine of work and television. I wanted to hurry this thing up so I could squeeze in a few more episodes of Party Down Season 2.

“Ya’ll save room for desert?” Our server asked when my date returned. I smiled and shook my head no, looking across the table to see if we were in agreement. “Okay, how about another round” she asked, eyeing the line of drinks. Drunk Zooey shook her head in bewilderment, “Nope, I think we’re good” she said casually, as if this were a ridiculous question. The waitress came back shortly and placed a black folder next to me. I picked it up and watched Drunk Zooey look around the patio, avoiding eye contact. I leaned over to pull out my wallet and grabbed the bill. She hesitantly reached for her purse and I blurted out before thinking over the consequences, “I got this.” She said nothing and put her purse back down. I don’t know why I said this, we were two adults that failed to make a connection, the reasonable thing would be to split the loss and go our separate ways. Instead, I signed my name under the $87 tab and started to identify with those girls that complain about feeling cheap and used after putting out the first date. I knew I’d never see this girl again, and more importantly, she knew she’d never see me again, yet she sat in silence and watched me pay for her five God damn sangrias.

Driving home, I thought about my old dating motto of, “You don’t shoot you don’t score” and began altering it to fit my current opinion. “You don’t shoot you don’t miss . . . You don’t shoot you don’t humiliate yourself . . . You don’t shoot you don’t waste 87 fucking dollars on a chick you didn’t really want to score with anyways.” I thought about all the DVD’s I could’ve rented, or Chipotle burritos I could’ve eaten, or 12-packs of Coronas I could’ve drank with that money. I’ve always hated the term “puppy love”. The older I get, the more jaded and pragmatic I become. I feel like love is at it’s purest at 16 and slowly gets diluted with age. The search for “The One” has slowly been replaced with the search for “A cool chick I like hanging out with who doesn’t photoshop her fatass pics and mooch sangrias off me without even thanking me.” From now on, I’m taking all these online floozies to lame ass Starbucks. Zooey Deschanel is no longer my favorite under-the-radar actress.

PS: SweetSpot Labs has a special deal for all IMBOYCRAZY readers. They can go to Sweetspotlabs.com and enter discount code “HALFOFF” at checkout for a 50% discount!

And check out the Sweetspot Labs FB page! They’re  giving out free products all the time!

You’ll thank me later!

xoxoxo

PPS: follow me on twitter @imboycrazy

CALL ME TONIGHT…

WEDNESDAY JANUARY 18, 2012

DURING BOYCRAZY RADIO

9PM PST/12AM EST

JUST CLICK HERE TO LISTEN

DIAL:

1(646) 378-0649

OR CALL TOLL FREE:

1(877) 569-3588

ps: if you’re in another country,

you can call me using gmail or skype!

pps: if you can’t call during the show,

leave me a message on my NEW toll free

‘boycrazy voice-mailbox’ 1(888)666-2045

we’ll bro out, role play,

and discuss ALL your love, sex, dating,

and life dilemmas!

1. sometimes when your sarcasm is so advanced, people actually think you’re stupid. this happen to me ALL the time.

2. sometimes ‘buffering’ is god trying to tell you not to watch that mob wives clip on YouTube. but sometimes you have to be like ‘fuck off god.’ and press play.

3. always be a LITTLE bit fat, so the baby fat in your face gives you a youthful edge!

4. you can banter, be friends with, and let the charismatic kooky guy entertain you, but NEVER choose him over the guy who loves you, would do anything for you, and who actually makes you feel safe. one is a figment of your imagination, who will lose interest in you in a heartbeat. and the other is the real thing.

5. don’t let the progression of the year STOP you from saying the best bullshit banter opener ever:  ’happy new year!’

6. sitting next to someone while they play you a song they think you should totally hear, is always so awkward! what are you supposed to do? just sit there? look at the device the music is coming out of? bop? tap your foot? look at your lap? all of the above? it’s just too much! or maybe i’m just over thinking it. either way, i prefer listening to music alone in my car.

7.  if a dude asks you if you i-chat, it means he wants to fuck you. your dad included.

8. ”If you want to do anything right, you have to put your heart and soul into it. There are always challenges, and you have to be prepared to go to the wall and be on your knees to get something done correctly, so if you don’t love something then it’s just going to feel like a form of torture with no reward. Love your work and no sacrifice will be too big or too small. My other advice is: if you want the job done right, do it yourself. Sorry to use that tired old cliché, but it is true.” – Madonna

9. always clear your computer history. even if you AREN’T up to no good.

10. try your hardest not to unnecessarily complicate your life: with people, with habits, with bad choices in general.