So what's up with you these days?

Those friends of yours who declared that there are no nice guys out there were wrong. That's the good news. Unfortunately, the ones who said "All the good ones are taken" were right.

Need proof?

Meet Brooklyn's own Jake Bronstein.

Jake spends his days writing funny, sweet love notes. Just the kind of thing that would really help perk a person up on a bad day, maybe even give them a little bounce in their step. Because who doesn't love getting an unexpected love letter, right?

Not that these are entirely unexpected. And not that the sometimes sappy sentiments are exactly sincere.

See, Jake and his girlfriend -- oh, did I mention her? -- spend their evenings writing love letters... to strangers.

It's all part of his effort to cheer people up during these dark, difficult days. As he explained in this morning's New York Post, "People get very depressed during this time of year, and it's nice for them to get a little shot of love from a stranger."

Thanks to an ad he placed on his blog, the 30-year-old has received over 1,000 requests from people out there who just want someone to reach out and, well, touch them, in one way or another.

It's sweet, but it's also, in a way, kind of sad.

I can't help thinking that as much as I'd love to receive a love letter, the notion of getting one from a stranger -- one with a girlfriend, no less -- doesn't exactly fill my heart to overflowing.

Make no mistake... I think what Bronstein and his girlfriend are doing is wonderfully generous and completely in the spirit of the season. But I can't help feeling a little sorry for all those people out there... not the ones who probably e-mailed the scribe on a lark, but the truly lonely ones who find themselves needing to ask a complete stranger for a love letter.

Somewhere in this house, I have a box filled with keepsakes from the past. And among those are letters I received from a guy who may or may not have been "the one." I received them years ago, and have read them more times than I'd care to admit. When I'm feeling lonely or down or just... just want to be reminded of the excitement I felt when one of his hand-written letters would arrive, filled with flowerly words and sappy sentiments, I open that box and allow myself to get lost, if only for a few minutes, in the land of what briefly was, what might have been and what I suspect will never be again.

It's sad to me to think of someone doing that with a letter penned by the well-intentioned Bronstein. I hate to think of people out there so bereft of human connections that they don't have people in their lives who can give them a much-needed boost when they're down. They don't have OMC's or Puck's or Nina's or Tyler's or Eric's, as I do. 

And they don't have a letter they keep tucked away somewhere, written by a person who, for however brief a time, made their heart skip a beat with the simple act of putting pen to paper and filling them with the kind of real, honest-to-God emotions that don't come along every day.

The kind so special that... well, we put them in a box and save them for a rainy day.

He is a white guy who likes dark meat.

She is a black chick who likes white boys.

He tries so hard not to be a tramp.

She used to be a cage dancer (read: tramp).

He thinks he's a black guy.

She giggles like a white girl

He traded Atlanta for the bright lights of the Big Apple.

She traded the bright lights of the Big Apple for the suburbs of Atlanta.

Both of them have questionable taste. I mean, neither watches ONE TREE HILL. On the other hand, each has a soft spot for me… which kinda balances everything out, right?

By now, you probably know that I'm talking about Nina and Tyler.

Seeing as everyone on the planet subscribes to Nina, you no doubt know that she tends to write about anything and everything. I mean anything. And everything. If she poops in her hand, it's a blog. If she chokes on a public hair while, um, pleasuring her husband, there's another blog. The wife, mom of two and student posts so many blogs a week that I recently came to the conclusion she has obviously learned to type with her boobs. She just unleashes those bad boys, leans over the keyboard and bounces 'em around while using her hands to do other things. Recently, she launched a very exciting new project which you can check out  here.

Tyler, on the other hand, blogs less frequently… but when he does, it's an E-ticket ride. Like Nina, you're gonna get a whole lot of personal details from this boy. Like the guy who wanted to be punched in the balls. Or the time he sent a wildly obscene text-message to his grandma.. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Tyler is probably the best writer I've ever encountered in the Space known as My. Notice I didn't say "blogger." I said writer. He will make you laugh, cry and cringe… usually all in the same piece. If you don't subscribe to this guy, you're truly missing out. Let's put it this way: OMC doesn't read my blogs, but he looks forward to each of Tyler's new pieces.

And who can blame him? I mean, have you seen Tyler dance in the subway after having had a cocktail or ten?

No?

Oh, let me fix that.

Khalood Bojanowski of Washington Township, Michigan, is living in fear.

She wants the local police, at taxpayer expense, to protect her on the night of December 16, which is when she fears her words will come back to haunt her.

And it's all Ryan Seacrest's fault.

See, Bojanowski and her son, Jojo, will be featured in the premiere episode of the Seacrest-produced reality series "Momma's Boys" in which over-protective mothers "help" their sons find love. When asked about the type of woman she would -- and would not -- approve of, Bojanowski made her feelings known.

"I cannot have a black one," she said to the cameras. "I can't have an asian one. I can't have a fat-butt one."

More importantly, she wants her son to stay far, far away from any girls with a Jewish background. "Nooo! No Jewish  girls! No way, no way! I cannot stand them! I'm sorry, but I can't handle them. It has to be a white girl."

In a later episode, she declares, "I swear, I'm ready to kill someone!" after spying Jojo in a liplock with a black woman.

Local police claim to have gotten a call from not only the woman, who is concerned how neighbors will react to her blatant racism, but a "concerned" producer.

Of course, if the producer were that concerned, he could simply edit out the footage rather than turn it into a publicity-garnering "news" story.

And if Mrs. Bojanowski is worried about her words... well, perhaps she should have thought twice before saying them in front of a camera.

As a blogger, I put a lot of words out there into the universe... and I do so willingly, with the understanding that I am responsible for those words. Mrs. Bojanowski needs to realize that she, too, has to own up to the hateful words -- and the very real anger they might stir up -- that she opted to share, all for the sake of 15 minutes of Reality TV fame. Perhaps the words represent her genuine feelings. Perhaps she spoke them in a misguided attempt to make herself a more interesting "character" for the show.

But no matter the circumstance, she is not a victim... and should not be treated like one. Not by viewers, not by the police and not by anyone else. Instead, she needs to be treated as the owner -- proud or otherwise -- of both the words and the consequences they bring about.