“hey sweetie
i dont know if u member me .. but i jus want u 2 know i always thought u was the kutest gurl,,. now ur a suffisticated hot women n i still adore ur person n judgement.. ur wonderful , stay gangsta n bueatiful g “

Awesome, right? In attempts to minimize unwanted encounters like this I recently decided to open a second Facebook page that I reserve exclusively for close friends and family. Whenever adding someone or confirming a friend on this second Facebook page I ask myself “Would I want this person at my wedding?”. If the answer is yes, then I add them right away. If the answer is “no” then I decline.

With an ex the act is fun, safe and non-committal. As an added bonus, my current recycling project lives hundreds of miles away means I don’t have to pretend that I actually like him. Rather than talking or arguing we just have sex–all the time, I’m talking Costco-sized amounts of sex…enough to last for a while.

In my opinion, Costco-sized sex is a non-stop all day/weekend romp session. This means setting an alarm at 5am to start the day with the bang (literally) and doing it over and over, going well into the night. It’s having sex so often that by the time we’re completely done I’m sore and exhausted with no desire to do it again….at least not until the next time I see him.

Although Costco-sex is not ideal, it’s definitely better than Home Depot sex–the “do it yourself” kind.

Note: The Center for Biological Diversity is distributing 250,000 free Endangered Species Condoms (above are some of the wrappers) at Earth Day events in all 50 states — as well as Canada, Puerto Rico, and Mexico — to highlight how unsustainable human population growth is driving species extinct at a cataclysmic rate.

During my freshman year of college, my French speaking hot surfer-god boyfriend left me for a skinny bitch who smoked cigarettes. We’d been separated for three months but I still couldn’t get that stale bitter taste out of my mouth. Luckily I had a cool posse of guy friends who helped distract me from my sadness. On my 19th birthday, they threw me a party in their tiny dorm room with a couple handles of tequila, and a bottle of Everclear to celebrate the night.

As the only girl in the crowd I’d been weighing my rebound options for the evening. It wasn’t till I gulped down my third shot of Jose that I honed in on my target. He was a true “edible arrangement, ” a tall, tan, fit, water-polo player who lived in my dorm. To top of his good looks, he was funny and did an awesome impression of Borat’s “verry niiiice.” I liked.

10PM: Drinking games on the third floor led to water polo boy’s bed, first floor.

10:43PM. In my state of drunken birthday bliss, I was oblivious to the disaster that would soon ensue.

Dorm bed: small

Making out: niiiiccee

Changing positions: rough

Falling: me on floor, upper rib slashed, ouch, wtf, laughter and then back on bed

Despite the fresh wound on my ribcage, I was having a lot of fun. I was in an alcohol induced bliss/trance and feeling the chemistry with this guy. He pulls out a green condom and shows me his goods…

Wait? What? Yeah, I felt nothing. Where was it? Too drunk to get it up? Only one way to find out. I decided to go downtown for some inspection and was taken back, aghast. No, it really cant be? The tall and lean Kevin was short and lean in the nethers. This made for the worst combination and resulted in the unthinkable: A baggy green condom.

Did our attempted romping on the bed count as the real deal? It was definitely in there at one point, but isn’t something only real if you can feel it? I definitely couldn’t feel it. After this ambiguous “sex?” we showered together in the shared co-ed dorm bathroom and returned upstairs. Our wet hair and guilty faces invited winks and raised eyebrows from my friends. Little did they know, how little it really was…

I cried in regret the following morning and to this day bear the scar of the small charm.

I could have very well forgotten about Mr. Birthday Sex’s existence had he not called to remind me that his birthday was on Wednesday. Our conversation went a little bit as follows:

q: Hi, Mr. Birthday Sex–what’s new?

mr. bs: Not much…my birthday is coming is on Wednesday. I’m turning 29, can you believe it?

q: Congrats! Any big plans?

mr. bs: I have a work dinner that night but I’m hoping I may be able to see you and get some birthday sex. Everyone needs to have sex on the birthday. You need to start the next year of your life right. So are you around on Wednesday night? I’ll make it easy, I’ll come to you (as though there was any chance in hell I would go out of my way to have bad sex)

q: I should be around. Why don’t you send me an meeting request so that I can have it on my calendar

Sure enough, I get into work the next morning and in my email inbox I have a meeting request from Mr. Birthday Sex. I open it and joyfully press the “decline” button. Almost immediately I get an email from him that read “What happened? I thought sex was going to be your birthday gift to me?” As if the idea of getting him a gift even crossed my mind…At this point, I wouldn’t even consider buying him a can of soda.

My gift to you, Mr. Birthday Sex, was letting you believe I would actually have sex with you.

**Dated: went to the bar, let him buy me drinks, came back to my place and fooled around.

The next morning, I walk out of the house and see a piece of paper on my windshield. My first thought is “parking ticket.” Once I get to my car I see that it is not a parking ticket but a plastic ziploc bag with the following Valentine’s day card in it…

I open the card Mr. Creepy Valentine’s note:

Yes, it was definitely a pretty forward move but what do you expect from someone whose email address is (statewhereheresides)doctor@aol.com? Also, who knew that my bitchiness would result in a Valentine’s day card?

Then I started college and things changed including the definition of my perfect man. I wanted all of the aforementioned things plus I wanted him to be a great dresser, funny, able to hold his liquor, able to last more than 2 minutes in the sack and more than anything he had to be well liked by my friends–no exceptions.

Fast forward a few years, and my standards shifted even more. Now, the guys has to simply have a job, no addictions and hopefully a normal-sized penis–but even that may be too much to ask for. The idea of Mr. Quatrophysics, and more specifically the four-pillars, conjures thoughts and memories of various men in my life who did handstands on only one pillar and lacked miserably in all others.

For example….

Mr. Intellectual Stimulation (“I.S.”)

I met Mr. I.S. after college. He looked great on paper: Undergrad and MBA from a top-tier schools, midwesterner, handsome, great family, dad was a neuro-surgeon (ummm…hello Dr. McSteamy), Ironman triathlete, investment banker, successful, etc.…You’re probably thinking, "who is this guy and where can I find him?!" Although he had all going for him, Mr. I.S. was not into PDA (or any type of DA, public or not, for that matter). I thought I could handle it but quickly realized I couldn’t. This realization occurred one Sunday afternoon when I overheard a phone conversation he was having. It sounded like a business transaction so I did my best to keep busy and not distract or interrupt him. When he hung up I said, “I’m so sorry you have to work on a weekend" and he responded with, “what are you talking about? that was my dad.” Yes, Pillar III, Emotional Elevation, was lacking in a bad way. Mr. I.S. was as cold as ice; mechanical in conversation and socially inept. Mr. I.S. looked promising both aesthetically and on paper but the thought of him raising any type of normal kid was out of the question. I definitely wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Mr. Sexual Glorification (“S.G.”)

After spending a year with a man devoid of any sexual sensation from the waist down, I met Mr. S.G. in the Hamptons. I was pretty new to the having sex thing and thought okay, I’ve heard of these things called “one night stands” and I wanted one. What better place to have one than during a weekend excursion to the yuppy-ass Hamptons? A place, where successful men prey on women. I found Mr. S.G. relatively early in the weekend. He was from Los Angeles, gorgeous, tan, perfect body, etc and was amazing in bed. By the end of the weekend, I had a renewed faith in the male species.Or, in the bedroom at least. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I was never able to find out if he satisfied any of the other quatrophysics pillars. When he asked for my contact information, I said, “why ruin this for me?” …and there we left it.

Mr. Emotional Elevation and Mr. Chivalrous Demonstration

This actually pains me to write this because what girl doesn’t want a guy to dote on her every move? Ummm…me. I’m sure if I asked this guy to drink a tub filled with my bathwater, he’d acquiesce with out any hesitation. He told me he loved me within the first month of dating and talked about marriage and having kids within the first three months. He gave me back rubs upon request, made me dinner every night and was the perfect-attentive, unselfish gentleman. After 6 months of dating we were sitting at an Olive Garden restaurant and he got down on one knee (yes, at an OLIVE GARDEN) and proceeded to ask for my hand in marriage. I said no. Actually, what I really said was “not here! Please get up!!!” All I kept thinking about was how all of my friends and family were going to ask me how he proposed and the thought of me saying, "at the Olive Garden" made me cringe. I mean, the salad and breadsticks are amazing but this is not the place where happily ever after starts. I had to break Mr. Emotional’s heart that week. I’m sure he’s wrapping up his final round of five years worth of therapy this year…

I remain resolute in my search for my Mr. Quatro. I’ve traversed NY, LA and San Francisco. Only a few major cities left. Is there a Mr. Quatro left?

Labeling a man as Mr. Edible Arrangement revolves around two main things: looks and confidence. Although in all honestly it primarily depends on looks. If I don’t like the wrapping, I’m not going to want to try the candy.

Once we get past the looks and into the interactive, hands-on stage there are a few things that I look for that will either make or break how edible I think someones arrangement is. Men, are you reading?

- Yes, to in-shape, muscular bodies. Take care of your body. You only get one. Make it beautiful.

- Face: Yes, blemishes happen but always take the proper precautions. Moisturize and minimize eye-puffiness. I know you’re a corporate attorney/investment banker who works 90+ hours a week but I don’t want to see it on your face. Facial hair is a matter of personal preference, be smart about it. Also note that if you can not naturally grow facial hair, this is God’s way of telling you that you shouldn’t have facial hair. Don’t try growing it in. It won’t be pretty. Always groom your eyebrows. Eyebrows is a plural not singular word, therefore you should have two eyebrows and not just one.

- Chest hair: I personally don’t love chest hair but I know some women do. If you do have hair and are planning on removing it be good with the upkeep. I don’t want to feel like I’m rubbing against 60 grit sandpaper when your hair is growing back. And for you cyclist/swimmers–same goes for your legs.

- Back hair: Like with chest hair, it should be in moderation. I don’t want to feel like I can dreadlock or braid your hair. I once dated someone who had so much back hair it looked like he was wearing a vest at all times. I ended up falling in love with him (not his hair) so I learned to deal with it. Looking back, it was always nice to have someone to go to my waxing appointments with me but it wasn’t necessarily what I want from a Mr. Edible Arrangement.

- Man parts: I think the same goes for the chest/back hair details. Moderation. You don’t need to take it all off but I also shouldn’t conclude that your package is bigger than what it actually is because you have a chia-pet growing in between your legs.

- Smell: Wear deodorant. Smell good even if it means smelling like Aqua di Gio like everyone else I’ve dated. There’s a reason why the cologne has a high sales volume: it smells good. Be aware of and try to minimize stinky feet. Mr. Baseball Hat had stinky feet. I dreaded inviting him over to watch a movie out of fear that his smelly feet would make me gag. Brush your teeth, use mouthwash and don’t smoke. Also, please don’t pass gas when we’re hooking up/immediately before or immediately after. Even if you think you’re being discreet. You are not.

I will elaborate on the "confidence" part of Mr. Edible Arrangement equation in the next post. As this part is especially important to the actual act of sex.

Famous last words, right? Mr. Emotional Gifts seemed to be the perfect man: handsome, successful, intelligent, a homeowner and, as evident through his incredibly inshape body, an amazing athlete. He was the whole package. Most importantly, he was single–which should have been the first of many red flags.

We start dating and this idea of “perfection” is reinforced daily. His actions lead me to believe that he could very well fit into all four-pillars…he could possibly be Mr. Quatrophysics. He calls and texts daily, is open and honest about his feelings towards me, is always very direct and always plans the most amazing dates. Everything is perfect and I start to think "wow, this must be it." After years of heartaches and failed relationships, I seemed to have found the perfect man.

The relationship continues and things start to get serious. We get physical. Yeah, you guessed it…he’s a rockstar between the sheets (or maybe just a small rolling rock? My feelings about his bedside manner may have been clouded by the developing emotional feelings). I meet his parents. We start making long-term plans. Things are going fabulously when out of nowhere, BAM! He pulls a 180. Not the slow, u-turn on a busy intersection 180, but a fast, jerky unexplainable one. From one day to the next he stops calling and becomes increasingly distant. Completely confused by his actions, I remain calm and think that he is having the pre-commitment freak out some men tend to have.

A couple of weeks pass and plans for my birthday party are being finalized and he informs me he is going to be out of town on the weekend. Yup, likely excuse. Maybe he was trying to get out of buying me a gift? Who knows. I attempt to make alternate plans for the night of my actual birthday and he replies with a simple “we will figure it out”. My birthday comes around and I haven’t heard from him so I decide to make plans with my friends. I call him and tell him I was upset at the fact that we didn’t spend my birthday together and that we needed to talk.

I come home from my birthday dinner and find a card next to my apartment door. I naively think "awww he probably feels bad about not seeing me on my birthday and wrote a card." Ummm….no. That was definitely not it. I open the birthday card and in it is an "apology." He says he’s done with me and the relationship and that he does not like me enough to continue dating. My favorite sentence in the note was "this is my emotional gift to you, i hope you will understand."

Happy birthday to me. Thanks for your gift it was much appreciated, asshole! In appreciation for your amazing present, I am having a pile of poop delivered to your door. You’re welcome.