WTF Ladies?

My best friend is nearly perfect. She is funny, smart, successful and absolutely gorgeous. But, like many women, she has one horrid flaw: shit taste in men. She is currently coming off a break up with a maybe-still-married man in his late forties who is overweight, bald and indirectly her boss. My heart breaks for her as she whinges about this tubby douche bag and the end of the life they were planning together. In two years, she had never been to his house, rarely did they go out in public, and never did she meet his family or friends. Which is too bad, because I hear his kid is hot and closer to her age than his dad is. But that's not the point. The point is, what the fuck is wrong with women who are willing to settle for the first sack of hey-baby that comes along and put up with his shit until he breaks up with her !?!

I lucked out in the relationship department. I found a guy with whom I have plenty in common: We both like me, and we both think he's cute. During my single years, I kissed plenty of frogs before I found this prince, but I had the good sense not to linger longer than necessary. My crap-o-meter is very sensitive, so I generally don't put up with much. I'd like to think of this as the norm, but around me is a growing number of single twenty-somethings hanging out with every schlub they meet in hopes of getting that ring before the big 3-0.

Plenty of women my age are no longer seeing the forest for the trees, but instead are seeing the Charlie Brown styled seedling for the great oak it could be if only she could convince it to grow. My afore mentioned pal, let's call her Assley, dates now for potential. A sample of a recent conversation:
Ass: I met this really great guy last night.
Vag: That's great! What's he like? What does he do?
Ass: He's really cute and funny, and he's a landscape architect.
Vag: A what? A lawn boy?
Ass: No, he's a landscape architect.
Vag: What does that entail?
Ass: Well, mostly he mows lawns and stuff, but still, an architect isn't something to scoff at.
Vag: Um, yeah. Okay.... So, where does he live?
Ass: He's got a really nice suite in a posh end of town.
Vag: Wow. He must be really good at his job.
Ass: Well... It's mostly his parents' house, but he has his own entrance, and he's allowed to have sleepovers. I think he may be the one.
Vag: I'm really, uh, happy for you?

Yeah. Sigh. Generally conversations like these are followed up in a week with a call that goes like this:
Ass: Remember that guy I was seeing?
Vag: The lawn boy? Yeah.
Ass: His car got towed on Tuesday, and his wallet was inside the car so he couldn't pay to get it out. I lent him $300 and I haven't heard from him since. He isn't answering his cell phone, and his message box is full. Do you think he's been in an accident? Should I start calling the hospitals?
Vag: Oh lord.
Ass: What? You don't think he's avoiding me, do you?
Vag: Um...
Ass: Well fuck. That's the third guy this month.

I know I should be showing some solidarity to my sisters out there in the dating world and blaming every man out there for simply existing, but alas, I can't. I know that not every single man is a shitweasel, but chances are if Assley or anyone in my retired league of bar stars is interested in a guy, he is one of the biggest fucksticks out there. So is there a solution to this problem? Apart from a giant cup of grow the fuck up served in bars to every grad student living in his parents basement waiting for his rock band to get signed or for Canadian Tire to start hiring full time, I don't think so. But one can only hope that you can see Vag in a hideous bridesmaid dress with a giant fuchsia bow in her hair before the year 2020.