Last night, Uma Thurman's male companion—some guy with longish hair, who may or may not have been her alleged current boytoy, former model-dater and hedge funder Arpad "Arki" Busson, though possibly not, as this fellow was described as "blond"!—put her in a cab up by Lexington and 50th Street. "They were carrying little goodie bags like they'd just been to some sort of gratuitous event," said a spy. "He put her in a cab and then started talking on his cell phone about her, and sounded like a total jock dick talking about his 'date with Uma.'" Oh, Uma. When will you learn? Why is your dating life worse than anyone's?

Publicist Kelly Kreth had long fantasized about boning the author of I Can't Believe I'm Still Single, noted emosogynist perv Eric Schaeffer. So it's really no surprise that, when she finally managed to cram herself into his busy dating schedule, she found him charming. Another thing you should know about Kelly is that her idea of third-date banter is "If you gag and vomit I will force you to lick it up."

We're a step closer to understanding Post dating columnist Mandy Stadtmiller: She's a product of the people she surrounds herself with. Here's a pal's advice: "New men are like Asian cuisine. The first time you have spicy drunken noodles, you're convinced it's your favorite dish, but then you have the pad Thai, and you realize there are other options." (Oh, in case you're scoring at home, she and her preppy boyfriend are still so totally in looooooove.) [NYP]

This week in Post dating columnist Mandy Stadtmiller's valentine to herself, Mandy is complimented by various people on her height, her pulchritude, and how generally amazing she is. Then the rich guy she's dating decides to skip breakfast because banging her is better than any meal he could ever have. Okay, Mandy, we get it: You win. [NYP]

Today's Page Six stumbles when it should have scooped: "Sightings: Maxim Deputy Editor Chris Wilson howling out a Monkees song with N.Y. Observer writer George Gurley, followed by fellow Observer scribe Spencer Morgan and his girlfriend, Vanity Fair fashion editrix Alexis Stewart, belting out Heart's "Magic Man" at Sing Sing." So close! Alexis Stewart is Martha Stewart's crazy daughter. Spencer Morgan is dating Alexis Bryan. Shelby Bryan's daughter. You know, Vogue editor Anna Wintour's lover Shelby Bryan? Crazy, right? (Sort of better than Spencer's boss Jared Kushner dating Ivanka Trump even.) Please God, let them have children together and make Anna Wintour a grandmother at the same time as Colonel Potter becomes a great-grandfather!

Post dating columnist Mandy Stadtmiller comes to some valuable realizations about life and love, all while getting her snootch waxed. [NYP]

Britain's Guardian finds it ironic that French dating site Meetic is successful by facilitating adultery — forgets that in addition to being the country of romance, France is also the country of mistresses. [Guardian]

It's only been three columns and Post dating authority Mandy Stadtmiller is already pulling out the "what about married guys" material. Next week: "Why are all the good ones gay?" [NYP]

The phenomenon of the wingman—you know, the buddy who will distract the fat friend of the girl into whose pants you are attempting to effect entry—made its appearance in the local papers this weekend, with a piece about Art Malov, a 28-year-old dating coach who teaches sad, lonely men the secrets of conning women into your bed. There's a lot of poignance in the article; you will not be surprised to learn that one of Malov's advisees is a computer technician who is reduced to bragging about how many phone numbers he now gets. The deepest moment of pathos comes when the aforementioned computer guy points out a fellow who seems to embody the apex of skirt-chasing.

Perhaps this means that Match is now targeting a younger—much younger—demographic. In any case, these new ads can only be good news for our friend Eric Schaeffer.

Match.com Says Love's for Everybody, Even You [Adrants]

PAUL BOUTIN — That video on how to win a geek's heart is cute, but it answers the wrong question. What SVUG wanted to know was, how do us dorks get the girls? Wrong approach: Code Monkey hang around at front desk. After the jump, links to the shoe stores and nightclubs you need to visit.

There have been times in our lives—and yours too, we imagine—where we've gone on a date with someone who turns out to be so heinously unattractive, for whatever reason, that we'd do anything, including climbing out the bathroom window, to nip the evening in the bud. What was it about that person? Was it his bad breath? Her mustache? His table manners? Jesus, it's a miracle anyone gets laid in this town at all. But wait! There's hope.

Let's just assume, for one moment, that we were single and in our 30s or 40s, and we were looking for a nice, hot piece of ass to take home to mom. We would have already written off the Meatpacking District and the Lower East Side as potential hunting grounds; ditto for stroller-happy Cobble Hill/Carroll Gardens. But not even the strongest whiff of desperation could get us to attend the 92nd Street Y's Deeper Dating event, if only because the Deeper Dating website promises "a series of exercises enabling people to meet many opposite sex participants in an enjoyable and less-superficial way."

This Thursgay, after you're done reading about parents who pimp out their kids (Stephanie Rosenbloom, who did you piss off to keep getting these embarrassing assignments?) and the incredibly Timesean warning about contracting fungus from yoga mats (why wasn't this story written by Stephanie Rosenbloom?), take a look at this David Colman piece on the eclipse of the skull as a fashion motif. As it turns out, overuse of the icon has resulted in a diminution of its appeal, and that, "because such symbols are associated with youth culture, they are often viewed as superficial and treated cynically by companies that market to young people."

Please clear room in your schedule for tonight's mandatory gathering:

• Al Roker continues to amaze the denizens of Philly, revealing that he is, as suspected, a hugger. As is Matt Lauer. Katie Couric? [Insert controversial pause] Sure, guess you could say she's a hugger, too. In fact, the entire staff of the Today show molests one another daily. Except for Ann Curry. No one will touch her. [NBC10]
• So who screamed at Brandon Davis, berating him for revealing Lindsay Lohan's clit length and demanding that he "take a shower"? This girl, that's who. And she's Lindsay's biggest fan, so step the fuck off. [BWE]
• MySpace isn't just for greasy hipsters and perverse predators — it's also for wannabe Playmates. [TMZ]
• Judge a book by its cover. [Book Covers]
• To Do, This Weekend: fuck a sailor, and fuck him good. Then tell everyone you know before realizing what you've done, then go get a STD test. [NY Sun]
• Mike Myers and his hockey stick are thisclose to joining Yonah Schimmel's and ABC No Rio as LES institutions. [Cityrag]
• Seriously, Frank Bruni, could you make us love you any more? Stop it! It's unnatural, this affection! [NYT]
• Meet the Harvard-Yale lovematch from hell. You may feel inferior now, but just wait until they move into their first Park Avenue penthouse and they start throwing crystal vases at one another. [Julia Allison]

Joan Rivers just can't get enough of internet dating. After being revealed as a user of Match.com, she went on the Today Show to talk about her frustrations and go on five quickie dates with five very uncomfortable men. Presumably none of those worked out enough to keep her occupied, and so Joan's taken to playing matchmaker for advertising guru and talk show host Donny Deutsch. Why, does His Manliness need a little help? Apparently the fig-leaf-cum-swimsuit isn't doing him any favors.

Auditioning your Nerve.com dates just got a lot easier, thanks to a new book that claims to reveal aspects of an individual's personality based on their food preferences. Another thing to overanalyze — just what single New Yorkers need. The Post advises ladies:

A tipster reveals a nighttime encounter with Larry Page. No, sorry, not that kind of encounter.