I like my women like Descartes' theory of metaphysics; to exist.

You can tell a lot about a person by obsessively Googling them.

There's a certain irony to hoping your self-deprecating tweet will be the most popular.

Why is it, at wine tastings, no one ever detects a 'hint of grape'?

If your profile pic is just your breasts, I'm going to assume you're not funny. Then I'm going to click 'follow'.

Time spent ironing: 25 mins. Time spent trying to dismantle ironing board afterwards: 3 hrs 45 mins.

I know the exact number of people I have slept with, because I still talk to both of them.

Listen, you don't need to mention "introverted" in your profile. Of course you are! You're dating on the Internet!

'Walk of shame' is seriously mistitled, if all the high-fives I'm giving strangers is anything to go by.

I have a date with destiny! Oh wait. Sorry, no, it's Denise. I have a date with Denise.

Staying in on Saturday night on Twitter doesn't mean you have a problem. It's going out and STILL being on Twitter, then you have a problem.

I saw a can of Four Loko lying on the sidewalk this morning. I'm surprised its owner wasn't lying next to it.

Not verified? Hey, I don't care! I didn't join Twitter to get some kind of verification. It's validation I'm looking for.

My coworkers are acting weird, like everything that happened in my dream last night meant nothing to them.

Signs you might be a genius: getting into an elevator and pushing the button for the floor you're on.

If I had a list of all the stupidest things I've said while talking to pretty girls, I'd have the screenplay for the next Nicholas Cage film

If I ever sit across from a cute girl on the subway, I like to let her know I'm interested by picking bits of imaginary lint off my clothes.

We're a perfect match for each other; she's beautiful, and I'm superficial.

A good measure of a girl's attractiveness is how far away she can be, and still have a door held open for her.

Just bought a Persian rug. Really disappointed I can't fly home on it.