Do I need Tough Love?

So Vh1 is pimping its new show called Tough Love. In short, some douchey dating guru takes a batch of classless ladies and teaches them how to snag a man who will want them for more than one night. The commercials speak common sense to me, so I assume the show will follow suit and the only reason to watch is to laugh at these sad little disasters. Or is it? I'm not the type who goes on dates all the time or the kind of gal who can attract the type of man that would actually be a suitable match. Maybe I could take a tip since my dating life can be boiled down to two things: stalking and utter disinterest. Not on my part. See, I either meet a decent guy and he texts me 28 times in one night (this happened two weeks ago) or I like a dude and he blatantly ignores me because I have a tendency to blend into the background when I really like someone.

Let's face it. We can all improve. As the sage Kelly Clarkson sings, "I know I've got issues, but you're pretty messed up too." I do have issues. Tons. And I'm pretty sure that most of them can be chalked up to quirks. But really, admit it men of NYC, you are pretty messed up too. Maybe I just mingle with the wrong sort. Here's what I deal with:

Species: The Beer Geek
Locations: Fratty bars where everybody has a friend who is bartending that night
Known For: Drinking crappy beer and ordering round after round of shots
Beware: This man WILL give you a hangover and cause you immense amounts of shame within your social circle.

Species: The Has-Been
Location: Your hometown, known to appear around holidays, especially the night before Thanksgiving
Known For: Being super hot in high school
Beware: This man has gone down hill since the late nineties. Most likely has a receding hair line and beer gut and quite possibly, a wife. May have tendencies to resent people who moved out of town. It is OK to reminisce, but approach with caution, as objects tend to appear younger and hotter the more drinks consumed.

Species: The Re-Run
Location: Most likely close to where you currently live
Known for: Not being a total asshole the first time around...in fact, you aren't sure why things ended
Beware: There IS a reason things ended. Even if you have good sex blinders on you will remember eventually and nobody likes a repeat offender.

Species: The One That Got Away
Locations: God only knows now.
Known for: Being perfect in every way, and even more perfect over time.
Beware: As the years pass, women develop selective memory. Just because somebody maintained their looks over time, doesn't mean they are still that same old sweetie you remember. Don't forget: It's easy to remember him bringing you flowers, especially when you don't recall the time he kicked you out of his car for puking.

Species: The Neil Patrick Harris
Locations: There's one in every crowd
Known for: Being really fun, knowing the lyrics to Britney songs, wearing a preponderance of pink shirts and never being able to find a nice girl.
Beware: If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck...it's probably gay. But be nice and try and set him up with that cute guy in your office who lets you know when Perez posts something funny.

Species: The Mickey Rourke
Locations: They resurface every so often, cause a big fuss and then fade away
Known for: Being really hot and then having a tragic downfall, like jail or rehab. But then they come back a little broken but kind of better than before.
Beware: Call Dr. Drew because homeboy will prolly relapse before you can call "dibs" on his ass.

Species: The Tool
Locations: Everywhere, like roaches, these guy will survive the nuclear holocaust
Known for: General douchebaggery
Beware: You know he's bad for you, but the other half of the bed ain't gonna warm itself. Slap yourself, pinch yourself do whatever it takes, because this will most liekly end with you crying and gaining ten pounds in "fuck him" weight.

Species: The One That's Undercooked
Locations: Most likely moved away or living somewhere married
Known for: Being really awesome and totally perfect, except he "wasn't ready for anything serious."
Beware: That whole line about not being ready for anything serious is code for you aren't the right girl. And that sucks. Balls. So don't invest any time, it's like investing in stock that you will never get a return from. Send him back so they can re-fire him and serve it to someone else.

Species: The Stalker
Locations: They dwell at night, usually between the hours or midnight and 5 am or until they pass out
Known For: Calling non-stop, especially while drunk
Beware: Sure it might be cute to have a textual flirtation but be advised: this man will not stop. Ever. So don't ever show him where you live or introduce him to your pet rabbit.

Species: The Normal Guy
Locations: Like unicorns and zero-calorie vodka, these men are mostly mythical. But when a solar eclipse occurs during a half moon on the 18th, you just might get to see one!
Known for: Being awesome, liking the your favorite sports team (Mets for me, obvs) and has general good sense to just be effing normal.
Beware: If you see one, approach with caution and make sure he knows you only come with good intentions. Do not show signs of excitement, as this may make the normal guy run for the hills, only to run away on a rainbow to swim in a chocolate river with leprechauns and Edward Cullen.

Now to be fair, I am a commitment-phobe with major Daddy issues, but at least I'm not on the pole and I'm pretty open-minded (I mean, I've given all of the described above a fair shot minus the normal one).

So do we all need Tough Love? Should we all just get a coach to tell us what to do and say? Probably not, because in the end, every pot has a lid, no matter how many times that pot has slept with your roommate.

Know of more species? Post them in the comments.

So football is over...

"It was time The Patriots let someone else win. They win all the time." - my roommate, Tiny Dancer who is a YANKEE FAN, who says "Psh" to me when I say this about the Yankees.

Can't have it both ways sista...What's good for the pigskin is good for whatever baseballs are made out of (cow leather?).

Let's go Mets! Yay Santana! (as I say as I am still recovering from last year). I'm ready for some BASEBALL!!!!!!

No more basebal anxiety this year...

I've found a direct corrolation between the teams I root for and the men I choose to involve myself with. In the end, I never end up satisfied. They always come up a little short in the end. But at least most of the Mets still have their hair. Go figure...until April.

Other than that, no comment. I'm sort of devastated but I lived through the '90s. I've been let down before.

If I Could: A Baseball Wife

In honor of Tommy Glavine's 300th win (WOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!) I have decided to compose a post about what has been a dream of mine for a long time. Becoming a baseball wife. Did you n otice how many time's during the Milwaukee game that they panned on Glavine's cute wife and cute kids (not so cute when she realized the win wouldn't be his and that the Mets would eventually blow the game anyway...God when they suck, they suck). I would say she was on screen at least 14 times. Minimum.

So If I could be a baseball wife I would obviously do so by marrying a Met. But you are wondering...which Met would you choose Jonesy???? One would initially think I would go for one David Wright...BUT...I would have to pass on his hot ass (don't fret, more on this later). Instead, I would use my time machine and marry Keith Hernandez. First off, He had a sexy 'stache and a mullet, a combination I couldn't resist. And he was a solid Met. Also, In marrying Keith, I could get to meet the cast of Seinfeld and talk to Julia Louis-Dryfuss about her hair and prevent the Benes' from even taking over NYC. (WHY IS THE HAIRDO STILL POPULAR?!!!)

Eventually, I wouldn't love Keith anymore. There would be fights and perhaps an angry affair with Cowbell Man and he would cry and I would leave. And go straight to Mike Piazza's house. This way, all of his gaay rumours would be nipped in bud since, c'mon, Piazza can't be gay, he stole Keith's wife from him and she's smokin' hot! And I would continue to sit on my seats at Shea and stare at my boy's hot heiny. And I would still have a man with a rocking mullet and 'stache! WOOT! Oh, and you know I will dress a little trashy, like half-Anna Benson, half-First-Lady. It will be so hot!

While in the stands at Shea, I would live off the Kahn's hotdogs (it's the 90's remember-pre-Nathan's) and Carvel in plastic hats. I would attend EVERY single game, except for one week when I have my baby, Michael Jr. Who, on his birthday will be asked to throw out he 1st pitch to his Daddy. Cute right???? Also, I would beat ALyssa Milano to the punch and design my own line of lady sportswear to wear to games so most of the women don't end up wearing pink Mets crap (stupid and nonsensical unless are a baby girl) or looking like the antithesis of femininity.

At this time I would also have a brief fling with Turk Wendell. If only to get him to let me put that necklace of teeth on while we were doing it so it felt like caveman sex.

Flash forward to the end of 2005 where we get divorced as he files for free agency. And I file for divorce. By now, I need a break from the married life but I still need to inspire my boys (and get free tickets...) so I take a new route. I become Susan Sarandon in bull Durham and make every player want me, including LoDuca, who we know, only likes 18 year-old girls. I access to the locker room am required to attend all away games. After all, I have my little time machine so I am as hot as I was in the 1980s.

Finally, after a long career as a baseball wife/hussy, I decide to settle down when Mr. David Wright proposes. We get married at home plate and then, wearing number 69 (which they eventually retire for me for undisclosed reasons), I throw out the first pitch to fireworks and free hotdogs for all.

That night, The Mets beat the Yankess 100-0, and A-Rod and Jeter have gay sex on the pitchers mound for all to see.

Fin.

Correction: Sorry Keith!

Keith Hernandez is a spokesman for Just for Men hair dye, not the Hair Club for Men. I stand corrected and may I say Keith, your 'stache is as sexy as ever.

I might as well join the team...

I was thinking today about my beloved Mets. And how much my life is like a reflection of them. I guess it's a curse. Let me explain:

1. Consider my family. Sure my mom is one of the oldest, but she's also one of the best so she's like Glavine. Then you have the superstars who may be complete opposites but man do they play well together, so I guess my sisters are like Wright and Reyes. Then you have the newest addition who shows a lot of promise but has a lot to learn about the game, and while she may not have braids, in a way, my baby niece is like Lastings Milledge. My dad, well, he's a Yankee...so he doesn't really work in this analogy. Then you have me...the real superstar, who is there for the team, who likes attention, and who really wishes they would have swung at that last pitch in the NLCS...just like Carlos Beltran, except I don't switch hit.

2. My life...sure, for awhile things looked good for everyone in New York but me...with a few blips if greatness here or there. But finally, finally, things look like they just might come together.

3. When I was little and I did something good, I would get an apple. It didn't come out of a top hat but you get the drift.

4. Sometimes it seems like everyone around me is rooting for someone else.

5. I have been home to some really good looking (D. Wright!) and fugly (Jeromy Burnitz anyone?) players.

6. With my new workout regime I plan on implementing soon, I, too, will have a new stadium (OK that was a reach...)

So anyway, with that, I renew my commitment to the NYM for the 2007 season. See you at Shea kids!

An Open Letter to the New York Mets

Dear New York Mets (most importantly Willie, Carlos, David, Carlos2, Jose, Paul, Jose2, Endy, Tom, Steve, Orlando, Chris, and Julio):

Hi guys. Just wanted to let you know that I am a huge fan of yours. Like really huge. Not meaning that I'm fat, I just really like you guys A LOT.

It all started back in 1986. I was 5. David, you were just 3 or 4. My Dad wanted to spend more time with his daughters and since that other New York team (which he is a fan of) wasn't doing so well, he decided to take us to see baseball played at its best. I don't remember too much about Shea Stadium back then. But I remember liking the hotdogs and the name Dykstra (I still heart you Lenny). I remember the song of that year (We got the team work, to make the dream work, Let's Go! Let's go Mets!) I was too young to remember Game 6 (I bet Bill Bucker still has someone kick him in the balls every night for his mistake) of that World Series, and the Game 7 win.

This:

led to This!!!!:

As I grew up we grew apart for awhile. I didn't come to your house for many years because, well, you were in Queens, I didn't have a car, and I liked cheerleading more than baseball. I didn't sell out like some others, I just kind of forgot about you and you well, forgot how to play baseball. Let's face it, you really sucked. But deep down I still loved you and supported you.

Flashforward to me as a teen. I found you again. You got your shit together. I supported our dear friend Mike with open arms. I clapped for Rey Ordonez even though I knew that most of the time, he was going to strike out. And then you came through. In 2000, you shocked us with your Wild Card win. And then actually playing like magic to make it to the World Series. That was great! Deep down, I knew you wouldn't win but I was overjoyed! You didn't suck! No one could make fun of us! Actually, the obnoxious fans of that other New York team could but they are obnoxious and mostly ugly and probably play on dodgeball teams called The Hotness.

But then what happened? Half of you left leaving Mike to carry a torch with a fat first baseman and a team that he couldn't commuincate with because no one spoke English. It felt like the early 90's all over again. But I stayed. And I cheered. I gave you everything. I even accepted Mike's blond facial hair. Give me some credit here.

Much like Jason Giambi's weirdo 'stache, in the days of yore, Piazza rocked some odd hair.

Flash to 2005. A shining ray of hope in the form of a very very very HOT third baseman named David. He came to us. And it was good.

The tongue thing just does it for me.

I understand why Mike had to go. He was getting a little old and lets face it, no team can have that much hotness at one time. You said next year is now. And while the division was tough last year and you were all so close, next year ended up not being now.

This year you told me it was the team and the time. And I believe you. I bought tons of tickets. I even travelled to that other New York team's house to play with you. I have spent more than I can afford of $6-7 beers and $4 hotdogs (which, by the way, you should have never have gotten rid of Kahn's, they were so much better). I have invested my time in you. And it's paid off. You've been working hard. You want to do well.

So I have one small favor to ask. Please don't ef this up. Even the Red Sox fans are counting on you. You scared me last week with your nonsensical losses. So play well, be strong, and I'll see you Thursday. I'll be the one screaming in the blue and orange.


Sincerely,

Ms. Jones
(David's future wife)

P.S. Really, though, just do your best. Let's go Mets!