How To Get Cinderella’s Guy





Have you ever seen that guy? That guy who, when you walk into a room, pulls your eyes to him like a magnet set on hyperdrive? God, you look at that guy and your eyes kind of cross because you’re like: Woah. Your face. So beautiful. Can’t. Look. Away.

Yeah, we’ve all seen that guy. And we’ve all reveled in the moment of possibility when he could totally be single, when he could totally be the one...

Managing your Man

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So, you’ve found your dream boy (finally), but he’s got all this BAGGAGE.  Okay, some of this baggage isn’t going away. Those annoying parents? Yeah, you can’t send them to rot in Florida, so you’d better just get used to having those farts around.  That really boring and UNATTRACTIVE dog he owns?  It’s like his child (thank god he doesn’t have one of those), so again, stuck with it.  Then there are the things that are easier to deal with: he has a stupid wardrobe? Well, burn it, duh.  A subscription to FHM?  Cancel it, stupid.
Get them inebriated and then attack!
And then, worst of all, there are those icky, stupid, stinky, unmotivated blobs of life that he calls his BEST FRIENDS.  You know, the friends he’s known since 10th grade, when they met and became close because they both liked smoking pot and happened to go to the same school—ah, the stuff lifelong friendships are made of.  By this point you know that when you bring up how much you hate his friends it doesn’t go too go well.  And you’re thinking, “Help me! How do I get rid of these guys?” If he’s had these friends as long as I’m assuming he’s had them, they are like family to him, you just can’t disown them for him.  Also, if you tell him you don’t want him hanging out with these losers, he might think you’re “controlling” or maybe even “psychopathic,” which is the exact opposite image you want to cultivate for your dream lover (“I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy!”).  So you’re thinking now, “Oh my god, there isn’t anything I can do—I’m stuck getting brunch with these ass-wipes for the rest of my life”—but fear not, Gentle Reader, because I have some sure-fire ways to get these boobs out of your life for good. 

So You Don't Make the Same Mistake that JJ Made

Hello my darlings,

Today the internet has gifted us with some great examples of what to do, and what not to do, when it comes to post-sex texts. The following texts are a classic example of how easy it is to cross the line from being cute, communicative, and passionate, to being a slutty bitch who makes people uncomfortable to be around. I'll analyze each screen shot, pointing out for you what works, and what hurts.



 First off the bat, we would like to congratulate JJ on her aggressive texting approach. This is the year 2013, people. Women no longer have to wait for men to initiate the first post-coital communication. JJ's instinct to spend all of her free time with Kevin is exactly the kind of thing we encourage. It shows your man that you are available, interested, and not a hermit-loser. We'd like to add that the winky face was an excellent flirty touch, as evinced by Kevin's willingness to wink back at her.

Winking, Blinking, and Pinking: Three surefire ways to show a man you're down with his bad self

The lights are low. The air is heavy with bodily fluids. Strobe lights flash in epileptic fits and I slowly slurp my Sex With An Alligator. To quote a famous poet, "From across the room I can see it and can't stop myself from looking and noticing you, noticing me." What is it that you're looking at? Do I have something in my teeth? Has my hair gone flat? No, no, no, your look is one of hunger and self-satisfaction. You like something about me. So now what do I do?

If you've got boobs, or moobs, and a pair of heels, I can guarantee that the above scenario has happened to you at least once in your life. And, like most average biotches, chances are that you've lacked the necessary skills to act on his apparent interest. You tense up, you blush, you look away. Sugarlump, if you don’t
step it up, you're going to spend the rest of your life in your mildewy apartment, dressing your cats up in prom dresses, playing "Battlefield" by Jordin Sparks on repeat while the leftovers from last night's TV dinner reheat in the microwave. If this kind of existence frightens you, read on.
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