A Letter to My Soulmate

I’ll see you on a Tuesday morning. We’ll meet at some nondescript place like in line at the Bank of America on Powell street on a hazy, grey, why-did-I-even-bother-to-blow-dry-my-hair San Francisco day. I’ll be there fetching a temporary debit card on account of having lost my permanent one over the weekend because that’s what I do; I lose things.  The woman in front of us will be sporting multicolored dreadlocks and singing a Janis Joplin song.  She’ll start twirling and everyone in line will remain deadpanned, except for you and me.   Our eyes will meet. We’ll smile knowingly at each other and I’ll sigh and look down as if to say “only in San Francisco”.

You’ll ask for my number in a cheesy way and I’ll find it endearing because sometimes, at the right time and with the right person, cheesiness is okay.  You’ll wait the obligatory 2 days and call me and I’ll pace back and forth in my hallway as we talk, fidgeting with my hair and saying “like” every third word.  We’ll set up a date for that Friday and I’ll jovially skip to work for the rest of the week.  


We’ll go to Benihana and sit at a table with a couple and their 2 kids who look like Beavis and Butthead. The chef will try and flip a mushroom in your mouth but you’ll decline, because like me, you only enjoy the recreational kind of mushrooms. The chef will teasingly ask you if you had a bad high school experience as he flips the mushroom in Beavis’s mouth instead.  We will laugh so hard you’ll almost choke on your fried rice which will make us laugh even harder.  Then we’ll stop laughing and I’ll catch your eye for 10 seconds longer than normal and you’ll find it endearing because at the right time and with the right person, not being normal is okay.  In that moment I’ll want nothing more than for time to stand still.  


We’ll see each other again and again and one day you’ll ask me why I’m orange and I’ll make a mental note to discontinue my biweekly sessions with Staci-with-an-i at Brown Sugar Spray Tanning salon.  On Sunday afternoons we’ll walk to the Walgreens on Polk street
 and I’ll buy Haribo gummi bears.  You’ll buy the worms. We will both advocate for our respective haribo preferences at the checkout counter as though we are opposing candidates at a presidential debate.  I will eventually win said debate and you will be converted.

We will go to the SPCA on a sunny Saturday morning and adopt a pit-bull who was rescued from a box on the side of the street in the Mission. She will be our third Musketeer and we’ll take her with us everywhere we go, including on our Sunday Walgreens jaunts.  When she gets bigger and ignorant people get scared of her we will laugh incredulously because to us she is the sweetest most gentle creature on earth and sometimes people are just dicks.
 
You’ll hold my head and tell me it will be okay when I feel anxious or sad or when I complain about my job.  We will watch Louis CK, Mitch Hedberg or Chris Rock which will remind us that everything in life is funny and who the fuck cares if Rhonda in HR yelled at me for forgetting to turn in my I-9 form.  You’ll make me feel like being different is cool because you’ll be different too and we’ll be different together which will make life infinitely more interesting… and different.  All of you will love all of me and OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST QUOTED THE JOHN LEGEND SONG.

I’ll take you home to Virginia and you’ll meet my mom and dad.  I’ll beam with pride because my parents are so cool, so smart, so funny, so goddamn important to me and I’ve waited so long to introduce them to someone like you. You’ll watch Eagles games with my dad and I’ll warn you about the Peruvian sauce called Aji that my mom puts on everything she cooks.  I’ll tell you it’s hotter than Channing Tatum and you’ll tell me to consider not making dad jokes anymore.  My mom will make us dinner and I’ll watch your face turn red as you taste the Aji marinated chicken she made.  In that moment I’ll realize I want you to know my parents for the rest of their lives and that will be a really cool feeling.

I’ll also introduce you to all of our animals including our pony called Peanut but before I do I’ll tell you to bring her a carrot, because she’s only nice to people when they have carrots.  You’ll meet our dogs, Coco and Flossie and I’ll tell you about Blanch, PoPeep, Buddy, Daisy, Tory, Jack, Jill, and Sophie who we’ve lost over time but who are responsible for my best and brightest childhood memories.
I’ll realize my heart will never be broken again and that will be an enormous relief because being heartbroken is so sad, so hard, so time consuming.  I’ll realize that all those ridiculous times I longed for it to work with people who were not “it” was all just a part of my story – this complicated, messy, beautiful, tricked out story called life. I’ll think of the times I’ve gotten hurt and I’ll realize it all happened for a reason: so that I’ll know how good it feels when I’m with you; someone who always makes me laugh — someone who never makes me cry. I’ll think of that celibate dude I dated back in ’09 who insisted on dry humping me once a week, even when I was wearing new chafe-inducing jeans.  You’ll be the person who makes me realize I never want to be dry-humped again.  

One day, years from now, you’ll read this and I will turn as red as you did when you first tasted my mom’s cooking but it will be okay, because again – sometimes, at the right time and with the right person, cheesiness is okay.  

Until then though, I’ll be here…  

…dreaming of Tuesday mornings. 

Mystery Gift for Android

With Mystery Gift, you have a chance of getting awesome rewards like free Takes, free Woos, more Beans, even a Starbucks gift card or a romantic date on us. All the gifts are always valued more than the price to unwrap. You can unwrap as many gifts as you want. There is no limit!
Please note: This feature is only available on the Android app, but will be open to iOS soon.
Where can I find Mystery Gift?
You will see a gift box icon on the top right corner on your Today’s Bagel page. Click on it and you can unwrap one of the five gifts upon clicking the button at the bottom. When you’d like to exit out this page, click on the back button to return back to your Today’s Bagel page.
How can I use my gifts?
If you get a free Take, it should be automatically applied to your next attempt to Take. It will show as free instead of the Bean price. Same applies to free Rematch, free Woo and free Open Sesame.
If you get more Beans, your Bean count will be reflected right away.
If I win a Starbucks gift card or the free date, how do I get those prizes?
We will send an email to your Coffee Meets Bagel email address with detailed information about this within a few days.

Send a Woo

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Tap “Woo” on the lower right corner of the LIKE button to activate the Woo screen. Click the plus sign on the lower right corner to add as many Woos as you want. Keep track of how many Woos you add in the upper right corner of the screen. To the left of the Woo button, you’ll see the amount of Beans deducted per Woo. Then, just click Woo to send!
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If your Daily Bagel has sent you Woos, you’ll immediately see the Woo screen with all your Woos! Just click the “X” on the top left corner to leave the screen and view your Bagel’s profile. You can also see all the Woos they sent underneath the Like or Pass buttons.
Can I send a Woo if my Bagel has already sent a Woo to me?
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5 Dynamite Ways to Get your Ex Back

“Hey, I was just calling to get some girl advice.”

My friend sounded drunk pained…desperate even.  He and his girlfriend of 5 years had recently broken up and he wanted to get her back.

“Uhh… Uhm, you might be asking the wrong girl,” I responded sheepishly.  “But if you realllly want to know my take on it: Be indifferent.  Be a dick.  Be aloof.  Look hot.  Be social.  Be happy.  Don’t respond to texts or calls right away if at all.  Make yourself scarce.  Move on.  Uhhh yeah, that always drives me nuts.  But, like, I tend to like assholes so take my advice with a grain.”

As I spoke I realized I knew more on the subject than I thought.  I hung up and baked a toaster stroodle, texted and called my ex twice, scrolled through instagram for over an hour thought more about it.  Here’s what I came up with:

We’ve all been there and we all know it to be true: break-ups blow harder than the Kardashians at the BET awards.  Someone who was once a big part of your life suddenly isn’t and that’s a real tough pill to swallow. Coping with the aftermath of a  break-up is similar to dealing with a death, but maybe worse because the person is still alive and you’re constantly exposed to their shenanigans via social media.  It’s bad enough you’re laid up on your tattered bean bag chair with haagen dazs practically hitting your system intravenously without having to see an Instagram pic of your ex sporting JBF’d (urban dictionary it) hair whilst brunching with some mega-douche named Shane who she met on Tinder.

So if you’re sick and tired of battling Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from drunk-hammer texting your ex, wallowing in self-pity, losing friends on account of your incessant blubbering, waking up in the fetal doused in brownie mix with dried snot on your forehead then listen up!  I’ve come up with a number of ways you can get your ex back like a fucking boss.

1. No contact for 1 month

This is the breast advice I’ve gotten with regard to break-ups.  My condescending brother told me a few years ago to “do the opposite of whatever you, Alexandra, would normally do,” if I wanted a second chance with my ex.  The majority of the time your instincts will fuck you if you listen to them and act on them.  So if on a Saturday night you find yourself cowering in the corner of your messy room, knee deep in vibrators, blasting Celine Dion’s “All by Myself”, sobbing uncontrollably into your unmanicured hands and contemplating a visit to the Golden Gate Bridge – call a friend.  Call your mom. Call your aunt Edna who could just as easily be your Uncle Ed on account of her(?) suspiciously pronounced Adam’s Apple. My point: Call anyone but whatever you do, don’t contact fuckboy your ex.  March right on over to AT&T and block homeboy/girl’s number if necessary.  1 of 2 good things will come from not contacting your ex: either you’ll get over it or he/she will freak the fuck out and come running back.

pand!

Turn it off ^^

2.  Be HAPPY.

If you’re not happy, fake it ’til you make it.  You want your ex to see that you’re doing juuussst fine without his credit card, big dick and forehead kisses or whatever.  The goal is to appear happier than a pig on prozac writhing around in a massive pile of steaming shit.

                                   via

3. Distract yourself.

Focus on something other than your ex.  This will help with tip #1.  I’ve always been curious about how snakes mate (I mean, they already are a penis basically – so how does that work?), where toll booth workers park and how OJ was found guilty in a civil trial but innocent in criminal trial (I seriously don’t get it.  Enlighten me, Bob Shapiro).  My point?  There’s so much else in this world to focus on aside from your Football/PornHub-obsessed ex, like following me on instagram and liking all my photos.

                             
                           Hi, toll booth worker. Where did you park?  Seriously.  I wanna know.

4. Be social…but take it easy on the booze.

Alcohol is a depressant.  Sure, it’s fun to go out and get rowdy with your friends but if you find yourself waking up on the floor of an apartment in the Tenderloin belonging to some guy named Darryl with a hangover the size of Everest, maybe you oughta think about cutting back.  Also, you’re more likely to send embarrassing sexts texts when you’re under the influence of 3 bottles of Whispering Angel.

5. Knock your ex off that pedestal.

You wouldn’t be so desperate to get your ex back if you got it into your head that he/she is a mere mortal like everyone else on earth.  He/she goes to the bathroom, cries, trips, feels insecure, worries sometimes and probably has had an in-grown pube or 5 in his day.  No one is fucking perfect.   The sooner you realize your ex is your equal and not your superior the less likely you are to act like a Desperate Denise… and desperation is a stinky, stinky repellent.

Follow these steps and your ex will be eating out of the palm of your clammy, unmanicured hand.

That’s all I got.  I better get back to watching the third episode of Season 1 of  Rock of Love.

Good luck!

5 Reasons to Love Being Single

At this point in time I am not at all fine with being a single woman with no prospects in sight.  There have been years moments in the past when I’ve been completely freaked out by the fact that all of my friends are abandoning me for their SOs attached/engaged/married/with child/ren.  But right now, in this moment, I am not content and even embarrassed given my advanced age proud to call myself a single lady whose eggs are likely turning grey as we speak.  Was it Tolstoy, Ghandi, Newt Gingrich, Tonya Harding, your mom or my great Aunt Edna who coined the term “the grass is always greener on the other side”?  Whoever it was nailed it.  I’d venture to guess a lot of people out there in a relaysh secretly miss being cold, lonely and starved for affection unattached sometimes.  Because being single can be fucking great.
Here’s why:

1. Basking in your own company is cathartic.
A couple months back I desperately kind of wanted to go see 50 Shades Of Grey after work.  The majority of my pals were screening my calls otherwise occupied so I took it upon myself to go solo.  I snagged up a bottle of buttery chard, marched my single ass to the Embarcadero Center Cinema, threw down what was left in my bank account like 2653 bones for gummi bears, popcorn and a microwaved hot dog, ventured to the back of the theater and found a seat amongst a sea of sexed up couples.  I felt liberated as I deepthroated munched on my hot dog, despite the fact that the couple next to me was rounding third 8 minutes into the movie.  Hey, I may have been there alone but at least I had my jizz-free popcorn allll to myself and didn’t have to contort my body into unnatural positions on a flimsy, dirty movie theater chair just so I could dry hump my albino punk boyfriend every time Christian Grey spanked Don Johnson’s daughter. Silver linings aplenty, my friends.
2. Analyzing a text message from you crush might be more gratifying than catching a shrimp flung by a Benihana chef in your mouth.
It’s beyond fun to sit around with 9 a couple bottles of Whispering Angel and a group of your nearest+dearest to assign find hidden meaning behind a text from a guy that simply reads, “hey. how was your day?”  Crafting an “effortlessly” snarky response is equally as stimulating and necessitates the same amount of focus required to successfully pop a whitehead on your upper lip line – if you don’t get it just right, the end result could be painful and messy.  Bottom line: nothing captivates a single girl quite like seeking counsel from her BFFs regarding whether to end a text response to a boy with a period or an exclamation point.  (Incidentally: 7 times out of 10 it’s breast to go with a single exclamation point as a period can convey overall irritation/stuffiness and you want to appear breezy and just FYI you really might want to exercise some serious caution when considering my boy advice.)


3.  A single Person doesn’t have to deal with an extra family.
Let’s face it boys, it’s quite unsettling/creepy when you meet your girlfriend’s brother only to find that he looks identical to your gf.  Also, sisters intimidate me.  So do moms.  Dads can be cool.  I don’t know.  Basically, I never know how to act around adults over the age of 60 who aren’t my parents.  Am I allowed to use the F-word?  Can I say “that’s what she said” if they say something that warrants it? Wait, what side does the fork go on again?  Up until about 2 months ago I thought the fiscal cliff (isn’t that the type of shit older parents like to talk about) was some kind of energy bar.  Jesus, it’s all so confusing. 

4. Walks of Shame are Kind of the Best.
When I was little I wanted to be a detective.  Piecing together different parts of a story in an effort to solve a crime intrigued me and it still does.  A single girl is forced into detective mode whenever she wakes up at a random guy’s house.  When did I last feel my missing earring on my ear? Where is my virginity shoe?  How did I get this weird, white sticky substance lip gloss on my eye brow? Who is this warm body next to me?  Fucking Christ, please tell me it’s not the guy with the twitch I played Duck hunter with at Mauna loa.  It’s like Hansel and Gretal but instead of bread crumbs a single girl has to to follow a trail of earrings,condom-wrappers, empty Plan B boxes bras and shoes.  FUN!  So call yourself Sherlocka Holmes and get right on top of that, Rose!

5.  You can do whatever the F you want, when you want, where you want, how you want. 
Wake up at 3am (rocking a giant Jheri curl), feel like heating up a frozen waffle, dousing it in Nutella, whip cream, Dorito crumbs, raw cookie dough and shoving it in your face faster than R. Kelley orgasms at a urinal?  Do it, sister (or brother)!  No one’s judging you.  You could be in a sauna playing pick-up stix with your butt cheeks whilst blaring Kenny G. if you so desired, YOU’RE A SINGLE OLIVE FEMALE/MALE, YOU CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT.  Sorry for yelling.

Of course, there are many wonderful things about being married/in a relationship like joint checking accounts, terrifically douchey awkward tandem bike rides and having someone to Lady and the Tramp a single strand of spaghetti with.

In closing, I would like to assert (and this applies to each one of us, single or attached) that the older I get the more I realize that my most important relationship is the one I have with my vibrator Number 1.  :)

How to Lose a Guy on the First Date

I spilled out of my moving Uber Pool – my hair still damp as a result of my decision to forgo blow-drying it in exchange for 20 minutes of extra snooze-time.  It looked like I’d gotten my makeup done by Helen Keller: a product of my driver’s heavy foot combined with my feeble attempt at applying mascara whilst simultaneously scrolling through instagram.  I felt frazzled and feared my bosses reaction to my tardiness.  I glanced at my watch as I entered the elevator: 8:43am.  13 minutes late – shitballs.  I skimmed through my mental Rolodex of excuses and landed quickly on one I hadn’t used in a few days quite some time: “I got locked out of my house after my spin class because my roommate had to borrow my keys last night and forgot to leave them under the mat for me. I am SOOOO annoyed,” I would say.  DONE.  When it doubt – blame it out.

I was so preoccupied with my debacle that I failed to notice the super-hot bike messenger likely 8 years my junior on the elevator.


“What floor?” he asked, as a bead of sweat rolled down his tanned temple.  I thought about how big his penis was as I surveyed his body and felt myself wanting him to press “DOOR CLOSE” and shove me against the wall and OH MY FUCKING GOD I NEED TO GET LAID.


“Who?  What happened?”  I responded as I sifted through my bag for lip gloss.


“Uhh..what number floor are you on?” 


“3-thirty-3.  13.  I mean, just 3.  Yeah, 3…it’s 3.” 


I felt my face turn red as I struggled to maintain my composure.  The next half minute felt like the longest seconds of my life and consisted of me honing in on the elevator buttons intently so as to avoid any eye contact/small talk with messenger boy (my go-to ‘vator conduct).  


Why am I telling this mildly embarrassing, anticlimactic story?  Because my elevator blunder is the closest thing to a first date I’ve had in awhile and it gave me the idea for this post.  And that might be the most depressing sentence I’ve ever constructed.  

Moving on:

My two biggest fears in life are flying and dating.  The thought of a staged one-on-one interaction with a perfect stranger over a candlelit dinner makes me want gouge my eyes out.  But, as a single woman nearing cat cohabitation it’s important for me to go on them.  I get that.  So, I am really not trying to be more open and less picky about dating. 
 
But enough about me. I thought I’d share with you my thoughts on how to have a successful first date AKA a night characterized by superficial small-talk, awkward silences and games of accidental footsie AKA sheer hell.  


1.  It’s okay to text your date and ask him how tall he is so you can determine whether or not you should wear heels.  In fact, it’s encouraged.  If he responds with anything under 5’6, respond back with “awww, wittle itty bitty pookie bear!  want me to call ahead to make sure the restaurant has high-chairs?” This will show him that you’re a nurturer and would be a good mother.  Then, he’ll think of sex!  YAY. 

2.  A lull in conversation is likely given the fact that you and your date have just met so it’s important to come prepared with questions so as to stifle any uncomfortable silences.  Some examples are:
a. Are you gay?
b. Where do toll booth workers park?  
c. Do I spot a chin hair on your forehead?
d. How do snakes mate?  I mean, they like, already are a penis.  Right?
e. Did you know babies are born without kneecaps?  How do you suppose they play soccer or kneel at church?  Assuming the baby is a Catholic of course.  

3 . Weather is the Godfather of small talk.  It will inevitably come up in conversation especially if you live in San Francisco, New York or Chicago.  The minute he brings up the weather, throw your head into your hands and start sobbing as you exclaim, “I can’t talk about it.  My abusive stepfather was a meteorologist.”

4. At the end of every story you tell him always make sure to look around in a paranoid manner, then creepily lean forward as you make intense eye contact and whisper, “and remember, we never had this conversation.”
5.  Hum Radiohead’s “Creep” every time he tells a story about his little nieces or nephews.  
6.  If the waiter fucks up your order ask him or her if he/she “would like a spanking.”  

7. Ask him if he’s ever had chicken pox.  If he says no, ask him if he would like some as you begin to furiously itch like a monkey.  


8. The subject of pets has a 47% chance of coming up.  If he says he’s a dog person you say you’re a cat person.  Then immediately call up your mediator to come and help “settle this dispute once and for all.”

9.  Don’t blink for the entire date.  If you slip up make sure you stand up, stomp your feet and whine “Damnit, now I have to start all over again!”

10. Ask him if he would like a bite of your foie gras.  If he declines, step outside and pace.  If he comes after you to ask what’s wrong respond with, “I just didn’t like the energy in there.”

11. Order pasta.  Make sure one noodle is dangling from your mouth throughout the duration of the date.  If he asks you what you’re doing tell him you’re waiting for him to “Lady and The Tramp” you.  This will make him harder than John Travolta at a Scientology convention.
12. At the end of the date always dodge a kiss and give what I have dubbed a HWAK (Handshake With A Kick).  This entails starting off with a standard handshake, then discreetly rubbing the innermost part of the shakee’s palm with your pointer finger.  Don’t grimace – you know you’ve done it before. Here’s a diaphragm of my HWAK:
And, that’s all I got.  Happy dating, friends!

Presenting: Your Scary Sunday Survival Kit

A few weekends ago some friends and I ventured into Mauna Loa, a Marina dive bar known for it’s Pop-A-Shot and gel-heads frat boys.  I was excited to be visiting my old stomping grounds – it had been a while since I’d disgraced myself in front of 60 fellow patrons played Duck Hunter whilst balancing a glass of Stella on my head (I’m a multi-tasker).  About an hour into the night I found myself in between conversations with a drunken sailor who was likely 9 years my junior (judging from his mild case of adult acne and the occasional voice crack), and a guy who looked identical to Kevin Bacon.  The Kevin Bacon clone was a staunch proponent of orgies and had recently joined an organization in the Mission centered around group sex and freedom of sexual expression.  He maintained that gangbanging had brought him spiritual enlightenment and encouraged me to “get on board.”  At that point in our conversation I decided to fake an ankle injury and hobble to the bathroom.

Soon after I’d Nancy Kerrigan-ed myself away from Kinky Kevin I realized that the likelihood of the evening evolving into anything fun was slim to quite slim.  So I stole the sailor’s hat high-fived the sailor and went on my merry way.  I stumbled walked home, made pasta a salad, watched 3 episodes of Dateline and fell asleepcold and alone only to wake up on Sunday morning in fear of the inevitable doom I’d soon be plagued by. But I digress.
San Francisco is a city crawling with couples – and they come in all different shapes, sizes and colors.  We’ve got heterosexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, polysexuals, transsexuals – you name it: love is definitely in the air in SF.  Every time I walk out of my house I feel as though I am surrounded by couples walking and talking, holding hands, Eiffel towering, whimpering, necking, goosing and whispering sweet nothings to each other.  When I first moved to California nearly 7 years ago I was 
scared and confused taken aback by all of the in-your-face public displays of affection amongst San Franciscans (one time on my way to work I saw a homeless man going down on a girl in a park across from my house – I will never be able to unsee that, and yes, I have considered hypnosis/prayed for amnesia) but I’m used to it all by now.  I will say that now that I’m old balls in my thirties I’ve found it to be considerably harder to be single in a place dubbed the “Cool, Grey City of Love,” as evidenced by my intro paragraph. 

                                                  love is even declared on SF street signs.

Don’t get me wrong: being single has it’s benefits: I never have to check in with anyone or ride on a tandem bike and I can headbang freely without fear of embarrassing my partner in pube-lic.  Really the only day I get jealous of girls (or guys) with boyfriends is on a Sunday afternoon/evening (that is a bold-faced lie) after a weekend of partying, when the sun begins to set and my anxiety level the moon rises.  There is something about a Sunday evening that makes me feel like Miranda Hobbs.  It’s as though I turn into a pathetic little bitch needy child who needs to be held and coddled.  That’s right, I’m restless on the day of rest.  I know for a fact other single girls feel this way and if you don’t believe me then that’s your prerogative and there’s not much I can do about it. 

So like clockwork, I started to feel anxious right at around 3pm that Sunday following my lame night at Mauna Loa.  I curled up into the fetal position on my sofa and commenced to watch Mother, May I Sleep with Danger starring Tori Spelling.  As I hugged my self pillow I got to thinking about how spectacular it would be if a “Rent-A-Sunday-Night-Boyfriend” service existed.  I thought about how it would be structured if it did.  In a nutshell: It would be a service for all single girls who are in need of male companionship on a Sunday from the hours of 4pm to midnight.  There would be no hooking up involved, just good ol’  fashioned Sunday night camaraderie.  (So if you’re looking for a Happy Ending, I suggest you venture on down to Chinatown and pay a visit to the Sum Yung Guy Massage parlor.)
I’ve put together a MANual (sorry, I couldn’t resist) for all you fellas who are interested in applying for membership at RASNB.  Responsibilities/guidelines include but are not limited to:
1. Ordering the breast Vietnamese/Chinese/Japanese/Indian/Mexican food (whatever Single Girl prefers) and laying it all out for her in an elaborate spread (be sure to include Jo Malone candles) in front of TV.  Come prepared with fresh bottles of soy sauce, serotonin and Sriracha.  

2. Spoon feeding Single Girl xanax sodium infused grub whilst simultaneously assuring her in your best Bruno voice that that “the puffy look is like, the in-est look eva right now!” 

                                                                                               
oh. hay Bruno.


3. Make sure Single Girl is always laughing – bring the following DVD’s: Blades of Glory, Wet Hot American Summer & What About Bob. Also be prepared to flap your arms like a bird and aimlessly and confusedly charge into windows and mirrors like a complete fucking idiot until Single Girl pees a little. ( if she doesn’t laugh at that, then you’re fired.)

4. Pry cell phone from Single Girl’s hands, delete any drunk texts she may have sent the night before, begin to stroke her hair and assure her that “men find drunkenly desperate, unintelligible texts to be incredibly endearing and sexy.”

5. Remind Single Girl that everything will be okay in the morning, and that at least she’s not a pigeon or Bruce Jenner’s doomed penis.  

7. Assure Single Girl that “no one saw you singe both your eye brows Friday night whilst attempting to light your p-funk off your neighbor’s stove.”

8.Detangle Single Girl’s nappy weave distressed,  beer infused hair whilst humming Bob Marley’s “Don’t worry…bout a thing.”

9. Bring single girl 4 tired puppies who are DTC.  (Down to Cuddle)


10. Spoon Single Girl on the sofa but do keep hands away from her face, funny bones, areolas and other private parts.

11. Set Single Girl’s work clothes out for her including her outdated Longchamp bag and her Ellen Degeneres-esque pantsuit that she hates.  Say to her “It’s a classic and you don’t look like Diane Keaton when you wear it.”

12. Come equipped with a fan to drown out sound of Single Girl’s roommate having sex with hot, well-endowed boyfriend.  Encourage Single Girl not to feel jealous and remind her of all the weird things sex can cause like hermaphrodites and Dennis Rodman. 

13.  Remind Single Girl that she doesn’t need a man to make her happy and that even VS model Adriana Lima was celibate for awhile too.  (This is a fact, btw)


14.  Lastly, you must be Brad Pitt from when he was in Legends of the Fall, Charlie Hannum, Chris Hemsworth or that guy from Country Sky to qualify.

                            
I can’t find my Cranberries CD, I gotta run to the quad before anyone snags it.  

Bye. 

Ivy League Showdown: Harvard men & Yale women are the pickiest, but who are the hottest?

Ivy League-ers! It’s that time of the year, and classes are back in session. Who’s ready to hit the books and start learning?
But first, let’s rally up some school spirit and start your academic year off right with a little healthy competition. We know you’ve already landed yourself a spot at some of the top schools in the country, but where do you fall in the ranks of desirability?
Our Chief Data Scientist sifted through 900,000 matches made on Coffee Meets Bagel among the prestigious 8 Ivies to determine who are the “Most Liked” singles in the school year of 2015. Last year, Harvard gents & Princeton ladies topped our charts (see the results in 2014), so this year it’s safe to say that Harvard men certainly don’t disappoint…


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About Coffee Meets Bagel (CMB): CMB  is a free dating service that helps members make meaningful connections. It’s designed for busy singles who want to find something real with little or no effort.

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MBA Showdown: Stanford GSB Rules Them All At The Dating Game

MBA-ers!  It’s that time of the year, and classes are back in session. But first, let’s start your academic year off right with a little healthy competition. We know you’ve already landed yourself a spot at some of the top grad schools in the country, but where do you fall in the ranks of desirability?

Our Chief Data Scientist sifted through over 316,000 matches made on Coffee Meets Bagel among some of the top grad schools in the country to determine who are the “Most Liked” singles in the school year of 2015. Last year Stanford GSB men & Haas women took first place as most LIKED (see the results). This year all we have to say is…sorry Fuqua ladies & gents, maybe a refresher on how to make the best profiles?

Canada Showdown: Queen's men & Waterloo women are the pickiest, but who are the hottest?

It’s that time of the year, and classes are back in session. Who’s ready to hit the books and start learning?
But first, let’s start your education off right by giving you the lowdown in a subject we know best: dating. Every year here at Coffee Meets Bagel, we compare rankings of some of the top universities across the world to see who “rules them all” when it comes to dating game. So who are Canada’s most desired singles in the school year of 2015?
Looks like Queen’s University ladies are the Queens of Canada’s top schools, taking first place as “Most Liked” alongside the men of Western Ontario.


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About Coffee Meets Bagel (CMB): CMB  is a free dating service that helps members make meaningful connections. It’s designed for busy singles who want to find something real with little or no effort.

App Store
Get it on Google Play