Dating Advice For The Ladies of L.A.

Horoscopes? You won’t be needing them.

Match-dot-com profiles? Don’t bother reading 'em

Everything you have to know, by far

You’ll find out by watching him drive his car

Does he cut people off? Does he drive too fast?

Would he rather die than arrive somewhere last?

When moving over, does he use his blinker?

Or is he, instead, a lane-weaving stinker?

Does he reply to texts at a four-way stop?

Is he hands-free only if he sees a cop?

Does he use the parking lane to pass?

Does he tailgate old ladies like a horse’s ass?

Does he treat La Brea like a lane at the races?

And when he parks: does he take up two spaces?

When he sees a pedestrian, does he grant right-of-way

Or step on the gas, churning up gravel spray?

You want to find out who’s the real hottie?

Don’t meet up for a Starbucks latté

Better to propose an afternoon drive

And if you’re lucky enough to come back alive—

You’ll see many of your concerns don’t matter

Be he tall or short, well-built or fatter

You won’t fail if you base your intuition

On what happens when his key’s in the ignition

Even if it feels like you’ve looked the world over

For a guy who can afford lease payments on a Range Rover

I’ll tell you what’s important, from where I sit:

It’s not what he drives, but how he drives it.

Foodbook

The pictures of you on your date night are sweet

The snaps of your summer vacation? A treat

I’ll tolerate shots of your dog or your cat

And your kids are adorable—there’s always that

But another dumb Instagram of what you’re eating and drinking—

I’ve got just one question: What are you thinking?

This important fact might take some of you by surprise:

Our lives are no better having viewed your beer and cheese fries

I’m sure that crab sushi is really delicious

But unless you handrolled it yourself, be judicious

That pretty Mojito, that dewy gin & tonic?

They give me a headache that’s verging on chronic

Food-photo posters often fall into two camps:

The stunt eaters and drinkers, or the abstinence champs

A third category is also worthy of mention:

Those who cook to cry out for cyber-attention

Some of you evangelize what others have forsaken

Whether it’s chocolate or booze, deep-fried Snickers or bacon

Then there are those who’ve restricted your diet

You’ve baked gluten-free muffins? Great—now, be quiet.

It starts innocently, with brownies, or umbrella drinks

But soon, it’s a 2:00 a.m. chili dog from Pink’s

When we compulsively post pictures of what we’ll put in our guts

There’s a name for that; here it is: ‘Facebook Food Sluts’

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fallen prey, too

What can I say? I make a photogenic beef stew

But next time I have the urge to whip out my iPhone

I’m hoping I’ll have the strength to leave you alone

Because unless your waiter has set a whole pig on fire

There’s not much there to see that your “friends” need admire

If it’s your birthday or wedding, sure, show us that cake

But if not? Put that camera down, for God’s sake!