On my way to work this morning, the radio station did a segment called “The Worst Mother’s Day Ever.”

In case that title isn’t descriptive enough for you, they basically ask mothers to call in and describe how horrible their Mother’s Day went (that was yesterday, for all you shitty kids out there). The mother with the worst story won a $700 pair of earrings!

Of all the calls that rolled in, one still stands out in my mind. This particular mother lamented how she has three grown sons, none of whom even bothered to call to wish her Happy Mother’s Day. She was most upset by her oldest son, whom she explained is currently living out of his car. Every now and then, he still shows up unannounced and sleeps in her guest room. Furthermore, he “smells real bad,” according to this forlorn mother, so she always has to wash the sheets afterwards.

This poor mother was baffled how her own son, who imposes himself on her all the time, couldn’t even be bothered to call on Mother’s Day.

The radio DJ was sympathetic.

I rolled my eyes.

Sure, sure, it sounds like she has some pretty selfish sons. Especially the oldest one. Sure, sure.

But, here’s what I can’t help wondering: How the hell did the son end up like this? If he’s a grown man, why is he still living out of his car?

Most importantly, what kind of mother lets her child get to this point? That, to me, is the question she should be asking herself.

Having worked with “troubled youth” for seven years now, I can pretty much guarantee that if a kid puts himself down a “bad path,” the vast majority of the time, it’s due to the parents. Maybe it’s under-parenting: they’re negligent and don’t watch over their kid. Or maybe it’s over-parenting: they’re so smothering that the kid starts getting into nasty things just to rebel.

Either way, you can pin that hairy tail of responsibility on the parents’ misguided asses. You see, kids are essentially blank slates. And on these blank slates, parents get to paint the most beautiful works of art… or the vilest pieces of graffiti.

Yes, sometimes kids are born with certain conditions that may lead to certain behaviors. And yes, sometimes kids have friends who are “bad influences.” But ultimately, if a kid turns out to be a fuck-up of the living-out-of-his-car magnitude, it’s probably because of something the parents did—or failed to do.

Of course, I have to qualify everything I just said and admit that, yes, sometimes there are circumstances outside the parents’ control. And yes, sometimes parents do everything they’re supposed to do, but their kid still gets messed up somehow.

Yes, it can happen. Sometimes.

Just like how you can get struck by lightning. Sometimes.

Rarely is it the case, though. In my experience, if I have a student who’s the royal embodiment of dysfunction, and I wonder what could’ve happened to this kid, and I call his parents and sit down with all of them… well, seeing just a few minutes of their interactions is usually enough to make me go, “Yup. That’s where it came from.”

Not once in seven years have I had a kid who’s just rotten, only to meet his (or her) parents and then be left wondering how two seemingly well-adjusted adults could’ve produced a monster of such ridiculous proportions.

This mother who called the radio station? She reeked of parenting red flags, not the least of which was how self-absorbed she seemed in her own woes.

So, the fact that this woman has three shitty kids? I’m pointing one gigantic judgmental finger at her shitty parenting.

Because that’s where the fucking up usually begins.

Dennis Hong blogs here and doles out dating advice here. Both are free of shitty kids.

Hey kids, remember me? I’ve been around-ish. Some days I have big bursts of energy and get all excited about re-entering this world. Then I update facebook, reply to a tweet or 2 and before I know it my energy fizzles.

Anyway… I kinda have something I want to blog about today. I’ll try to be coherent. No promises.

Lately, for the past few months, I spend a huge amount of my energy on trying to be patient. You see, I’m not a patient person. Anyone who knows me, anyone who’s ever read much of this blog probably knows that. I have infinite patience for kids, and problem solving around work stuff. But I have no patience for the things that are most important to me. The BIG ISSUES of my life. Like, you know, my health and my relationships.

So if there’s something important that I don’t know (the results of a test, why someone is behaving in some strange way) then it pretty much eats me up. I obsess.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m supposed to live in the moment. Fuck that. Seriously, I know I’m supposed to live in the now and all that… grumble grumble  I’ve even tried, repeatedly, to learn to meditate. But that’s not who I am, deep down inside.

I’m a somewhat neurotic (maybe more than somewhat neurotic, OK definitely more than somewhat neurotic) obsessive worrier. And when there’s something I don’t know, it eats away at me. Like acid.

I’m sharing this because I’m 100% sure that some of you can relate. I’m also 100% sure that some of you will judge me and write comments/send me notes telling me that I need to change my ways. Whatever.

One of the main reasons for my recent hiatus is that I’m currently in waiting mode. I’ve been ill and while being ill SUCKS and there are many days when I can barely get it together to comb my hair I am also being forced to wait. Wait wait wait for tests and in between various doctor’s appointments to figure out what/if anything serious in going on. As much as the feeling crappy sucks, the waiting is nearly as bad. Because, as I’ve said, I have no patience.

What made me think of this today?  I was skimming Kotke and saw this blurb about Mark Zuckerberg’s amazing ability to delay self-gratfication(must find time to read the whole article). And I started to wonder… chances are, I’d have eaten the marshmallows.

Today’s guest post is by Kristen Nicole, dating coach and author of “The Single’s Survival Kit”, at ScrewtheSingleLife.com. She helps pull lonely singles out of their rut, and introduces them to real romance.

My Ex-Hookup T-Shirt Collection

I just finished taking a morning after shower with this guy I met last night. I’m standing in a towel, staring at the clothes I wore the night before. All of the sudden, my Levi’s, sequined tank, and four-inch stilettos don’t look so appealing. But in the corner, I see a shining beacon of light: his old high school football tee. “Hey, do you think I could borrow this?” I shimmy it on before he can respond.

Why are we so addicted to wearing guy’s clothing? Sure, we love how it smells-as long as it’s clean. And on a fat day there’s nothing better than wearing a shirt three sizes too big. But beyond this, does owning a piece of a man’s wardrobe really make us feel more secure?

Absolutely. We love the feeling of commitment. All of the sudden, he thinks our belly rolls are cute, and we don’t quite mind when his armpits stink. In our minds, that football tee is our one-way ticket to happiness.

But stop thinking in terms of happily ever after. In his head, he loves seeing you strut around in his oversized tee and your boy short undies. He doesn’t look at you wearing his tee shirt and think “forever and a day”. He thinks “what a great lay”. Eventually, we are forced to face this awful realization. And trust me, I did.

Two weeks ago, he gave me his shirt, and now he’s dating the scantily clad aerobics instructor at my gym. And to top it all off, he has the nerve to call me and ask for his favorite shirt back. What did I do?

The next time I went to that gym, I wore his shirt. I worked out like I never have before. I made sure that shirt was drenched with every ounce of my hard earned sweat. When the thrill of the gym thing started to get old, I retired that shirt to my dirty rag pile. I scrubbed my smelly garbage can and cleaned my toilet bowl with that shirt. And then, I returned it.

In the beginning, we wear a guy’s tee because it makes us hear wedding bells. But once we realize he was anything but committed, we wreak havoc on his wardrobe. If we can’t make him suffer, damaging his favorite tee is the next best thing. Three holes, four bleach spots, and two pit stains later, I was definitely over him. And revenge never felt so good.

I was catching up with a female friend of mine last weekend, and she started regaling me with the dramatic details of her dating life. She was frustrated that she kept getting played by guys, so she finally boiled it down to that ultimate gazillion-dollar question:

“How do I know if a guy really likes me? I mean, how do I know if he’s really into me?”

I thought about it for a second, and I realized that I had the perfect answer. Of course, it was probably not the answer she wanted to hear, but this is what I came up with:

“Sleep with him. Then see how he acts toward you afterwards.”

Not surprisingly, my friend wasn’t amused. And, truth be told, I wasn’t being all that serious myself, because… truth again be told, I thought it was a silly thing to ask. I mean, come on, if I had the answer to that question, I certainly wouldn’t be posting my thoughts on a blog. I’d have marketed the shit out of it and be raking in the cash by now.

So, she got the snark.

Just for kicks, though, I thought it’d be fun to defend myself on such an obviously ridiculous answer. And so, I did. And I expounded on and on about the merits of my solution, tongue firmly planted in my cheek the entire time.

But then, as I continued to defend my stance, I realized that my solution actually held a sad amount of truth….

Look, I’ll admit it. Guys can be douchebags. Some guys will be attentive and be available and be interested in conversation and want to charm and wine and dine….

Until they get laid. Then, they’ve gotten what they wanted, and they move on to the next girl. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve done it myself.

And here’s the kicker, ladies: If a guy is charming enough that you find him attractive and want to sleep with him, there’s a good chance he’s had practice at it. Unless you’re actively seeking out the shy awkward wallflowers standing quietly in the corner, if a guy is pursuing you, and you find yourself becoming interested, I’ll wager money you’re not the first woman he’s pursued. And I’ll wager even more money he’s enough of a charmer to hide his true intentions.

So, is it possible he’s truly interested and wants to be your boyfriend and is secretly saying your first name followed by his last name out loud to himself to see how they sound together? Sure, why not?

Is it equally—if not more—possible that he’s only looking for a casual hookup? Guaranteed.

So, how do you distinguish the two?

I’m telling you, you can’t. The more charming the guy, the less you’ll be able to figure him out. And this isn’t me being a guy and holding on to our trade secrets. You just can’t tell.

“But,” you rebut, “what if I just don’t put out for months and months? What if I make him jump through all sorts of flaming, spiked hoops before sleeping with him? I bet that’ll weed out the players just looking to get laid.”

Yes, it definitely will.

It’ll also weed out the guys who are interested, but also have enough options not to be willing to put up with your bullshit.

So, you’re either left with the guy who is so absolutely smitten with you (sure, sure, it can happen), whom you’ve now reduced to a talking puppy.

Or, the desperate dude who latches on to the first woman he thinks he actually has a chance with.

Your call.

No, really. In all seriousness, if you just want to know how a guy feels about you… put him to the ultimate test. Sleep with him.

If he still calls you, and he still wants to see you, and he’s still charming and witty and smart and laid back, then he might actually be interested in you.

But if he becomes all too scarce all too suddenly… well, then he’s just not that into you.

And there’s your answer. Now where’s my gazillion dollars?

Want more dating advice? Check out Dennis’s group advice site, LemonVibe, where you can ding him if he tries to give you some of that snark.