Dear Tuffy Luv,

My roommate forced me to get an account on plentyoffish.com, where I actually met a really nice guy, Ryan.  We started talking and I found out that we went to the same high school, and graduated the same year (coincidence!).  We talked on Plenty of Fish for a few days and then I gave him my phone number (we did go to high school together, after all).

Everything was going GREAT and we really hit it off.  He’s Catholic, I’m Catholic. He’s a Republican, I’m a Republican.   He works construction, and he seems like a really nice person.  We have a lot in common and we remember each other from high school, kind of.

Here’s the PROBLEM. Every time we make plans to hangout, he ALWAYS backs out.  I mean I talk to the guy for at least an hour a day (texting, calling, Facebook, etc) and he won’t meet up.  He asked me out on a date once and I said sure and then we decided to meet at this concert we both wanted to go to. I told him to bring a friend, and I brought a friend…he never showed.

He always asks me out and asks me to hangout with him but then when we plan on meeting somewhere he stands me up or complains because he doesn’t want to meet my friends because it would be “awkward.”  YES of course it will be awkward at first, but have a few drinks, loosen up!

I think it would be awkward if we met just the two of us for the first time (since high school) without friends or at least alcohol present.  Am I wrong?  Should I meet him for lunch just the two of us, or should he just grow some BALLS and suck it up…meet my friends and ME?

I have a feeling that he might be the one…just from what we talk about and everything, but if we never meet, how can we have a relationship? Do I stop talking to him? On the other hand if I pass him up, I might regret it for the rest of my life. Opinion pleasee?!

-Stood up and Shot down.

Dear Stoop up and Shot down,

No! Bad girl!

In other words:

SIT THE FLOOP BACK DOWN.

Something is obviously SERIOUSLY wrong. He won’t meet up. He’s canceling or just not showing. In spite of you saying that you’re uncomfortable meeting solo the first time, he is insistent (and, in fact, unbudging) in his need to meet you by yourself.

SHADY SHADY SHADY.

No no no, girl. Don’t meet this guy without a friend. I am getting a BAD BAD vibe.

Okay, to be real, he is probably not a serial killer. He’s probably sinister in a much more minor way.

But why take the chance?!

Look, either way, he is purposely making you uncomfortable by insisting you do something you’ve already said you don’t want to do. If he’s already this creepy and pushy and controlling, how do you think he’s going to be in a relationship?!

And you want to MEET this guy?!?!!?!?!

No, girl. Sit. Heel. Stay.

Hearts & Skulls,

Tuffy Luv

Question?! Answer: Ask Tuffy Luv.

What's that noise? Where's Olivia Benson?!

Some days I wake up in my NYC apartment, put on my robe, and walk around with a bowl of oatmeal saying “man oh man, am I real adult or what?” I pay bills, I clip coupons, and I change my sheets on a biyearly basis. It’s kinda like I’m checking my mailbox twice a day to see if anyone has sent me an official “you’re a functioning grown-up” certificate. It’s kinda equivalent in my head to a law degree or an MBA — in the sense that all three are frame-able.

But some nights, I lay awake in my bed, heart racing, scared sh*tless that a serial killer is going to break-in to my apartment, steal my stuff, murder me, and then use double-ply toilet paper to purposefully clog the very fragile toilets. My fears get even worse when my roommates spend the weekend away and I’m stuck hypothetically protecting our apartment all by myself. I go through enough possible murder scenarios in my head before bed that I could win in a “worst ways to be killed in NYC” brainstorming competition against Law and Order SVU and Lifetime Movie Network.

And I make things worse by watching scary movies alone. I don’t know why I ever thought watching the Home Alone trilogy before bed was a good idea. After making that genius movie decision, I slept with a butter knife under my pillow and a complimentary restaurant box of matches in my hand.

I don’t get why I can be a totally real adult during the day, but a complete kindergartner at night. What is the magic adult age when you’re old enough to spend a night home alone without freaking out every time you hear a noise?

In college I always felt safe before I went to bed. Maybe it was from the dorm security guards screening every resident as if we were boarding an airplane. Or maybe it was the false sense of security that going to bed drunk gave me. Either way I always felt totally safe — and that was with my dorm door unlocked and propped open.

Basically I have two choices right now. I can either install a fourth lock on my front door or I can call Syracuse and ask them what secret-service-reject-school they use to hire their dorm security. And then get drunk with him and have a peaceful night’s rest once again.

Yeah, I’m growin’ up.

Here’s how it would go. They would befriend some poor homeless guy, put him up in an apartment, and get him to sign a life insurance policy listing them as the beneficiaries. After waiting a couple of years (as an immediate death would raise the insurance company’s suspicions), they would drug him senseless, run him over with a car that — presumably — would not be traced back to them, and claim the payouts.

Helen Golay and Olga Rutterschmidt evidently did exactly this in 1999, and got away with it. Then they did it again in 2005 and got caught. Even weirder — both women are in their 70s! These are serial-killing grannies we’re talking about!

Serial-killing grannies with expensive habits, evidently: A letter from Helen to Olga talks about Helen’s plastic surgery (at age 72!) and how painful it was. Since this letter was written in 2002, it was probably the first man’s murder that paid for said plastic surgery. Morbid to think about it, isn’t it?

The article in the Washington Post talks about how the story is just like something out of Arsenic and Old Lace, except without Cary Grant. That was before my time, but the point of the comparison transcends generation: This sounds like something out of a really twisted movie.

Actually, that’s a great idea for Helen and Olga’s next ‘rocking chair fund’ (or ‘get out of jail fund,’ as the case may be): selling the movie rights to their story!