Four steps to becoming an all-star d-bag

Step 1: Be belligerently drunk. (But in your defense, dude, everyone at that party was pretty wasted. Except I wasn't. So, you'll have that.)

Step 2: Be so drunk that you inadvertently spit on me every time you open your mouth. (To the point that I am wiping my face. Did you happen to notice that?)

Step 3: Upon deciding that you are too drunk and/or spitty to continue talking to, follow me as I walk away. When I respond to your tap on my shoulder, stare at me like a deer caught in headlights. (Then lose your balance and try to catch yourself on the table next to you. Which, unfortunately, happens to spin like a lazy Susan. Ooops.)

Step 4: Whisper (or what you think is a whisper) to your friend as I'm walking away, "Hey, dude, I'm just trying to get a BJ here."

Aaaaaand, there you have it, guys. Four easy steps to ensure I will not give you my number. Or a BJ.

P.S. Does anyone else now have this song stuck in their heads? (And I'm not mad at it. Are you?)

What a douchealouche

Why would a guy send you a drink (a Cosmopolitan -- barf!), give you his card (pointing out his cell number on it) and ask you to hang out (and not just to watch a Cavs game, if you catch my drift)... if he's married?

Because he's a douche.

Which apparently makes me a douche magnet. (I obvs didn't know he was married when I was talking to him. No home wrecker here, peeps.)

Let's hope he was the first -- and last -- of the 2010 dbags.

(OK, you can stop laughing now.)

(Sidenote: To spare everyone, I chose not to Google "douche" and post it as an accompanying image to this post. You're welcome.)

Anyhoooo... a reader recently asked about the name for January's dating adventures. Suggestions? (Added inspiration: This is my birthday month.)

Have at it!