Mad Atoms

A word of advice to every guy in LA: Stop telling me how important you are. I don’t care what you drive, where you live or how you roll. I don’t care if you’ve dated twenty girls who are not only more attractive than me, but far less intelligent, as well.

Okay? Okay.

So, honestly? I do care. But you still shouldn’t tell me. Because it’ll be way more impressive when I find out, post iPhone google, on my way home.

Yes. Duh. Of course I’m fact-checking you, and so is every other single gal I know. Ask any market research company. We’re millennials. There’s a live RSS feed pumping directly into my heart.

Facebook, myspace, plaxo, linkedin, google – the internet is the great de-equalizer. Before the advent of such stalker technologies, H’wood bigwigs and well-dressed liars stood the same chance of luring some starry-eyed sweetheart back to their bachelor pad. Or house-sitting gig. Or vacated family home. Whatevs.

But these days, imdb can be a total cockblock. (Hands off, key grip. Your wife looks like a bitch.)

Yes, I’m hoping to find evidence of astronomical IQ and Q scores but like all true journalists, primarily I’m looking for the filthy stuff. Tiled Miley Cyrus MySpace background? Pro-bestiality blog posts? McCain campaign donation record? No thank you. Call it shallow all you want, but I call it not-having-to-change-my-phone-number.

On the upside, if you’ve got the goods (and no criminal record), you couldn’t ask for a better wingman. With every linked accomplishment, hobby, and site-I’ve-heard-of-before, I’ll be more and more impressed. With my excitement mounting, I’ll start building you up in my head, more attractive, charming and powerful than you are in real life. This fantasy of you and I together will grow and swell and develop and build as I drive faster and faster and (!!!) by the time I get home, I might invite you to come, too.

And, if you think you’re scott-free because your name turns up zilch, you’re wrong. It a town where all press is good press, no press is fucking pathetic. I at least have my middle school state science fair second place win to back me up. Oh, and there’s a trophy, as well. It’s sitting in my bedroom, if you’d like to come back and see it. Babe.