A guy a know who I’ll call Cullen used to say, “I love you enough to tell you the truth.”

After this proclamation, he would immediately follow it with a barrage of criticisms about how you’re doing things wrong. It was uncomfortable. You’d feel defensive. But after his assault concluded, you’d find yourself saying, “Dammit, the sonofabitch was right.” And he always was. A mutual friend of ours, Jen, was complaining about some shitheel she was dating. Jen is a psychologist and a strong, independent woman. However, she was dating a shitheel. He sucked. We all knew it. She suspected it, but stuck with him. One day, Cullen says to her (apropos of nothing), “What’s up with your self-esteem? You know better than to be with a loser. Get yourself together. Christ!” And Jennifer started to cry. Cullen didn’t flinch. He patiently waited for the sobbing to end. Then Jennifer said, “Yeah… I know.” Because she knew that Cullen was right. She dumped the guy a few days later.

The reality is, like the Buzzy Lindhart song preaches, “…ya gotta have friends…” And maybe the job of a friend, aside from being there when the world collapses around you, is to be there to knock you down a few pegs. For example if I wanted to meet out some buddies and I showed up with a ten-gallon cowboy hat, I hope they would say, “You look like an asshole and aren’t allowed to sit with us. Go home and change.”

Or, rather, parts of them suck. Maybe they always hit on your girlfriend. Maybe they never pick up the check at Applebees EVEN THOUGH YOU SAW THEM EAT ALL THE WINGS. Perhaps they ask to borrow money. Or they’re just not there when you need them most. Or, God forbid, they didn’t “like” the video you uploaded to Facebook about your child’s piano recital.

But, they’re your best friend(s) and you’re likely stuck with them. And they with you.

Let’s help you figure out how to fix the stupid problems you have about your closest pals. Allison Arnone and I are, if nothing else, pretty damned smart. Also handsome. And we have hips that don’t quit for days.

Below here you can enter in the issue you have with your best friend issue, and we’ll solve it. If you don’t see the form below, click here to submit.

Women terrified me until I was twenty-two.

Without hyperbole I had a full, blown-out phobia of the fairer sex. Also bees. I can remember in first grade there was a girl who I wanted to date, or whatever we called it back then. I knew that I wasn’t good looking enough, however. That horrible self-image lasted until (in college) my first girlfriend told me that I was handsome. And she was beautiful. With her validation I realized that all those years I had been lying to myself. It’s not like after that moment I walked around campus believing I was chiseled from stone. But I no longer thought of myself as ugly. All it took was one person’s compliment and my lifetime of thinking I was gross-looking went away. I’d love to tell you that I came to an acceptance of my attractiveness through intense self-exploration and maturity. Nope. It just took the prettiest girl I knew to tell me I was hot. Sometimes that’s all you need.

The best part about being comfortable about one’s looks is that I simply stopped thinking about it. I don’t consider myself good looking or ugly. If I saw a beautiful woman sizing up the tangerines at the grocery, I’d approach. I’d get rejected, most likely, but it wouldn’t be confirmation that I was ugly. It would be confirmation that she has horrible taste. She’d continue on with her shopping, but make a near-fatal error reaching for the buttered pie tins in the baking aisle. She’d slip due to a not-yet-cleaned-up-but-still-invisible layer of coconut oil on the linoleum that a previous patron had knocked over. The cart and weight of its contents would press against her neck cutting off her ability to breathe. The irony of being killed by food which brings us life would not be lost on me! Despite my humiliation moments before, I’d spring to action. Using brawn, I’d remove the cart from her neck restoring her carotid artery to its working function. She’d kiss me deeply and whisper that she was sorry and had misjudged me over by the Mexican bananas. And then I’d laugh and say, “Don’t worry about it, kid.” I’d turn my back and leave the store a hero. Stock boys would toast me every December at the employee holiday party.

The point is that women don’t freak me out anymore. I found that after the phobia lifted, I enjoyed their company. I don’t understand them, of course. They’re nuts. Everyone knows that. But, I get along with women. I dig hanging with them.

When this blog began someone told me to go BlogHer, an all-women’s conference. Since I do what people tell me, I went. At the time I was writing for a humor website (the now defunct AimingLow) which was staffed by women. If I remember correctly I was the only male staff writer. That brings me to InThePowderRoom.

I met Leslie Marinelli at the Aiming Low Non-Conference, which actually was a conference, but we’re cool and irreverent and make fun of things like conferences. I also knew Leslie because she contributed to AimingLow and I was a fan of her work.

Every year I’d see Leslie at a conference or two and we’d chat it up about something. Once I was walking with Kate Hall and Stephanie Sprenger, both bonafide successes in the blogging world, and Leslie messaged me that I better get my ass down to the hotel lobby stat. Kate and Stephanie looked at me and said, “You know Leslie Marinelli?” I said I did and they both squealed with delight and asked if they could tag along. Everyone adores Leslie and she has true celebrity status in the blogging community. I just have a that’s-the-weird-guy-who-goes-to-women’s-blogging-conferences status.

At some point a few years ago Leslie took full control of InThePowderRoom and became its sole owner. Since it’s clear from the site’s title that the focus is on women, it never occurred to me to ask to write something for them. But, 99% of my blogging friends were women, most of my readers were women, and I feel like I can crank out toxic shock jokes like a broad. So, earlier this year I reached out to Sarah, the deputy editor, and pitched an idea. My thought was that it could be an interesting concept if a guy reviewed women’s products. If you watch television commercials you’ll see that men are often portrayed as morons. I would adopt a persona of a bumbling guy who would take a product specifically designed for a woman and write about how it confused him. Since their readers are largely married women with husbands, I felt this idea hit their demographic perfectly. I’d represent their idiot husbands. Sarah pitched to Leslie and they agreed to give it a test.

Since I’m not privy to their stats I have no idea if their audience actually liked my column. But Sarah and Leslie liked it. And we worked out an arrangement where I would give them exclusive, fresh content every month. This was a big deal to me. It was an honor to write for them on the regular and I worked like crazy on each sentence to make it perfect. Leslie’s the kind of person that, if I tweeted out a link to their site and it generated big traffic, she’d email to thank me directly. That’s thoughtful.

Sadly, Leslie and Sarah announced recently that the site has stopped publishing. It may be temporary, but nobody knows. While it never would have occurred to me to ask, Leslie reminded me that the contract I signed allowed me to republish the content I created for them on my own blog after a certain amount of time has passed. So, over the next few months I’ll start dripping in those pieces, because they are pretty damned funny. Because Sarah and Leslie are damned funny and they knew how to edit my stuff to make it better.

I hope they reopen the store at some point and I can’t wait to get back to work reviewing women’s products. There’s something called a Hermes Burkin bag which is like 20k and I have a lot to say about it. Just kidding. I have nothing to say about it. But I’ll make some shit up and send it over to Leslie and hope that she publishes it. Because that’s what you do with your friends. You build things together.

I’m honored to have been part of InThePowderRoom’s history and glad to have met Leslie. I doubt she’s written me into her will, but if she croaks and leaves the site to me, I’ll reopen it immediately. I even have a new tagline – “We Don’t Poop Because Women Don’t Do That.” Also, we’re going to have a lot more nudity. Playboy folded and that created a hole that needs filling. Unintentional pun there, but I’m leaving it in.

Thank you to Leslie and InThePowderRoom for creating amazing content for many years.

Here’s a link to everything I wrote for InThePowderRoom.

I’m going to write a part II to this celebration of InthePowderRoom discussing Leslie’s right-hand-woman, Sarah del Rio. She gets her own article.

Well, even though Allison Arnone is annoyed by me 80% of the time, she temporarily put aside her distaste to pound out another joint advice column. “It’s important for her to stay mentally active,” the doctors whispered to me as she was roaming around the grounds chasing invisible butterflies. Allison’s a lovely girl and we wish her the best. Oh, and here’s our first installment, in case you missed it.

This time we answered your dating queries. Let’s dive in.

I’m recently divorced after almost 25 years of marriage. I have a boyfriend who is the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever known, and we are truly soulmates. Am I destined to fuck this up? I’m destined to fuck this up, aren’t I? Thx in advance. – Claire Baudelaire

D.J. – In a recent dumping to which I was on the business end, my girlfriend called me the kindest man she had ever met. Then she told me to get the fuck out. The reality is that kindness and compassion account for like 70% of a relationship. If you’re self-aware enough to worry that you’ll torpedo a relationship with a kind soulmate, then my advice is to stop listening to your brain. It’s not serving you. It’s okay – some people have screwy heads. And stop with all this soulmate nonsense. It’s 2016. Goblins and soulmates aren’t real things.

Allison – Ugh, I hate ever agreeing with D.J. but he’s right about the soulmate thing: that’s a silly Hallmark term that terrifies people into thinking they’ve got ONE single human counterpart out there and welp, better find ‘em or else! Anyway, the truth is you got divorced — which is shitty — but then you met a nice guy, which is not shitty. It’s the opposite of shitty, actually. So stop this self-sabotage nonsense! “Fucking things up” is not destiny or ‘in the cards” for you; it’s an actual choice that you’re in control of and you make. SO DON’T DO IT. I mean, unless you want to?

When should you start seriously considering the “If neither of us is married by….” pacts you made with friends in your early twenties? – Matt

D.J. – My recently deceased friend Bill had a great line about that. He said, “Never settle because what you end up with is less that what you settled for.” What a mind-bender, no? That being said there’s nothing more romantic that calling up that girl you used to pal around with sophomore year and say, “Hey, remember when I said that if I couldn’t find someone truly awesome I’d keep your number handy? Well, the day is upon us, fair maiden. Feast your eyes upon this CZ diamond! What say you?”

Allison – Those kinds of scenarios are adorable in rom-coms and in TV fantasy-land (”oh em gee!  he was under my nose the ENTIRE time!”) but let’s face it, in real life it’d be disastrous. You should never marry someone solely because you’ve reached a certain age and feel as though you should “give up,” settle and end up with some schlub friend of yours just for the sake of getting it over with. No, instead you should take advice from fictional character Mindy Lahiri from ‘The Mindy Project’ who has the right idea when talking to her guy pal about this very subject. She said, “If we’re still single in five years, and we haven’t found anybody, can we make a pact… that we’ll kill each other?”  

Now THIS — this is a better idea.

Issue I seem to keep running into. In the digital age, I seem to meet girls on dating apps, they’re cute, they’re fun, we exchange numbers. Everyone is busy so it can be weeks before we meet in person. Sooner or later over those weeks the conversation can take a PG-13 turn and we really start to be into each other on that level as well. Then finally comes the time to meet face to face and I’m discovering they don’t look half as good as their photos and their personality is way better when filtered through text and I’m just not interested anymore. In the reverse they assume we’re both 100% in and I’ve now painted myself into an extremely awkward corner.

How awkward? The last girl threw a 3 year old style hissy fit when she found out she wasn’t coming back to my place with me…..THAT awkward.

Advice? – Steve

D.J. – Steve, I can’t agree with you more. I tell every woman who’s single – put only mediocre pics of you on dating apps. Men are visual and we don’t like being disappointed in your real life appearance. I have a suggestion for you, though. I call it the, “What if it’s half-true?” process. When you see a 10 who’s chatting with you realize that she is probably a 5. Because let’s face it, Steve, you’re no 10, either. Imagine her half as hot. Still work for you? If so, book that date, Casanova! And if she ends up being a 7 in real life, holy crap! You were only expecting a 5. You’re a lucky man, Steve!  

Allison – Couldn’t have just brought her back to your place and kept all the lights off? And closed your eyes? And envisioned Mila Kunis? No? Fine. I get it; online dating — and let’s face it, photo filters — have made it VERY easy for people to ‘false advertise’ on the apps and present a photo of a 2016 Bentley when in reality they’re selling a 1989 Lincoln Town Car.  

I say we all work together on a new app called “Unfiltered Dating” — you can’t upload pics to your profile and instead, you have to use the actual camera on the phone. You know, that shitty quality, highlight-all-flaws, bad-lighting camera. That’ll teach these girls to stop using the Snapchat “pretty filter” on you!  (Or that GODFORSAKEN DOG). Whaddya say? Shall we bring it to Shark Tank?

Hi Allison and D.J.,

After a good friend broke up with his ex, our friendship took a detour into a Romanceville. Now he is back with the ex and I can’t help but feel a little hurt and confused.

What do you make of this – just a hookup / fling or could there true feelings rooted in our friendship (and good looks)? How do you advise I move forward as now our conversations make me extremely irritated? – Friendzoned

D.J. – Friendzoned, if you were a man I would kick you square in the nuts and when you didn’t react I would say, “See – you have no balls!” But you’re a woman so that doesn’t work. So, let me say it another way. Dude got dumped. Felt lonely. You were around. He banged you. Chick he really loves took him back. Now, go inside and notice how you feel. You should be irritated. Livid, actually. You got used. In fact, go kick him in the balls (or hire someone to do this on Craigslist). Then, go find a guy that would never in a million years want to nail any other broad but you. That’s what you deserve.

Allison – Ah, the old “line crossing” between two pals. Is it ever *not* messy?  In my experience it’s usually a big ole’ disaster and your question only solidified why. When two people have a platonic friendship, they don’t second-guess ANYTHING: they talk whenever they want about whatever they want and however they want. Then, if those two people happen to see each other nekked, everything takes a weird, awkward and uncomfortable turn. You constantly read between the lines. You’re now offended easily. You try to revert back to your playful and easygoing friendship style and can’t. And if that person DARE talk to you about dating someone else, well…

You gotta move on, methinks. Not from just the nekked time, but from the actual friendship.  

Besides, it sounds like he already did.

If I’m dating someone, like 3 dates in, and we aren’t official or anything but we’ve had sex,should I bring up whether or not I’m dating other people? – D

D.J. – It depends. If it’s the guy’s biological twin that you’re also courting, I’d let that get discovered naturally. Twins are weirdos and have a natural competition thing. They’ll be hanging out together and both start talking about this hot chick they’re seeing. “Mine has brown eyes, too!” “I can’t believe yours is also named Debbie!” “Yeah she’s allergic to shellfish!” “Let’s see a pic!” When they both look at the portrait of you, they’ll have no choice but to death-battle for your honor. Whoever survives wins your hand. And you never had to have that awkward conversation!

Allison – You are absolutely dating.  Don’t let them tell you differently.  Change your Facebook status to “In a Relationship With [Insert Name Here]”, post a photo you took of them sleeping on Instagram with the caption “mine” and message every member of the opposite sex on their social media accounts and tell them to BACK OFF.   No conversation needed. 

Guys on Bumble seem to be on some kind of ego trip. They’ll match with you, but then lack the common decency to engage in actual conversation. What gives? – Christine

D.J. – Thank Shiva guys are generally awful at dating apps. It makes it easier for me to have success. Most people are just awful human beings and you shouldn’t date them anyway. So, if someone doesn’t have the decency to have a good conversation with you, move on immediately to the next dude. Eventually you’ll find someone like me who’s chatty and witty and pretty goddamned hot and is going to pick up his new Bentley today from the dealership. Oh, and I have a little dog, too. Women like dogs. Make sure to tell me about your food allergies because I’m making you dinner. Four courses. You can make breakfast.

Allison – I noticed this a lot on Bumble, too.  Because women have to message first, it’s become this passive game for men to see how many hot chicks write them even if they have no intention of ever responding.  That’s why I always opened with something like, “Hey Brian!  You have 3 hours to respond to this message otherwise I’ll slaughter your whole family.  Also, cute dog!  Love Boston Terriers!”  Sometimes men need a little push, ya know?

I was dumped recently.

Should you feel sorry for me? Sure, why not? I like attention. But here’s the good news. According to my single lady friends, the quality of men who are forty years old and single are a real horror show. So are most of the women, but I’m not worried. Crazy people find crazy people. And, thankfully, according to my therapist I’m not crazy. I pay her good money to re-confirm this opinion every week.

One thing I know for sure about dating – if you keep finding losers, or you keep getting dumped, it’s probably more your fault than theirs. But as long as you keep tweaking yourself and improving on your dysfunctions there’s a good chance you’ll start attracting higher quality partners. And that’s happened every time for me. With each relationship ending I end up with a better woman the next time around. Because I’m a better quality person today than I was a few years ago. Sure, I still get into a fistfight with a random nun every now and then (THOSEHABITSINFURIATEME), but nobody’s perfect. Plus, beating up a lady of God has nothing to do with opening a door for a date and I totally do all that chivalrous crap.

Allison Arnone and I talk to each other about our dating experiences all the time. I run a ton of ideas up the flagpole with her and take her advice seriously. Recently I was going to propose to a woman on date four (the old engagement ring I had custom made for the previous broad), and Allison suggested that I not proceed with this plan. Her exact words were, “Go drink arsenic instead, moron.” Okay, that story isn’t true, but this is a humor blog and I have to write a joke now and then. Allison does think I’m a moron, but I’m not going to propose to a prostitute on date four. I probably shouldn’t even be dating prostitutes. I mean, technically they’re escorts, but still.

That wasn’t true either. I date normal, boring women because I’m a normal, boring guy. Plus, regular non-escort women are expensive enough.

Who better to give dating advice than two people who are dating, like Allison and I? I’m going with nobody. And now we’re going to help you with your dating woes. Do you have hammer toe and refuse to take off your socks on the first date during a petting session? WE CAN HELP. Or maybe your girlfriend brought over a box of heavy flow pads and stuffed it under your bathroom sink without asking permission (ahem, Allison…). WE CAN HELP. If you’re a guy and taking bathroom shirt-off selfies to post to your Bumble profile and wondering why even total hags aren’t responding to your online advances, WE CAN HELP.

Click here to post your dating question – we’ll fix it for you.

Oh, and by the way, we don’t charge anything for our advice. I know – I’m surprised, too!

Once again, click here to post your dating issue, moron! (Insults help motivate people according to my mother)

photo credit: couple in nature via photopin (license)

I’ve vomited maybe three times in the past dozen years, all from a flu or stomach ache. But back when I was drinking, puking after a binge was expected (and often welcomed). I would feel so shitty after a night of double whiskey sours that the next morning heaving out my insides would provide a modicum of relief. Sometimes even a small jolt of endorphins. It’s like a runner’s high, but without the running and nipple tape. But barfing sober, it just sucks from the coming attractions until the end credits.

A few weeks ago I puked while sober, but this time for a reason new to my experience. Motion sickness.

Well, motion sickness is not new to me. I experience it more that the average joker. Even in the calmest waters I have to down four capsules of Dramamine prior to leaving shore. And still I get queasy an hour into the boat ride. On dry land I also have to be careful. I have a personal trainer and I had to convince him in our first session that, while I would love to do burpees, after five reps I get nauseas. I’m sure he thought I was lying because that’s the kind of thing one would say to get out of doing burpees.

Once I took a woman to Six Flags for a first date. I LOVE ROLLER COASTERS. After a full day of riding, I had turned green. I can’t imagine she was impressed. The nausea was still present two days later. I called up my friend who’s an ENT because I was convinced something was wrong with my brain. “Nope, you’re fine. You’re just getting older.” With my natural sensitivity to motion sickness I can’t do the big roller coasters any longer. I have a virtual reality headset and even the simulated Six Flags app caused a few dry-heaves.

For a holiday gift my girlfriend took me on a trip to Cabo San Lucas. I wish I had stories to regale you of jamming with Sammy Hagar at his bar or getting into a knife fight with the Brujos. But none of that happened. We stayed busy, though. One of the activities was paddle boarding. For those unfamiliar, you stand on a surfboard and paddle around with an oar. It looks simple and I’ve seen children do it without struggle. We hired a guide to take us out into the ocean for a lesson. First he showed us the basic moves on land. It’s not complicated. You stand up and paddle. I felt confident.

Once in the water, all my dry-land practicing was for shit. I couldn’t stay up for more than ten seconds. Beth got up on her first try and never once fell. It was embarrassing because I was doing exactly what the instructor had taught me just minutes before. But once I was up my legs would shake and down I’d go. My quads were destroyed within minutes. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. Neither could Beth or the instructor. Both silently watched me stand and fall, stand and fall, stand and fall. I was so exhausted after the twelfth failure that I had to sit on the board to catch my breath. I felt like I was taking up all our time and asked if I could just sit on the board and paddle instead. This was even more humiliating. A few minutes later we passed a group of twenty paddleboarders. Not one was struggling. Or sitting.

For the next twenty minutes we paddled away from shore over to one of the rock formations. As we passed a  docked cruise ship, the nausea hit me. All of a sudden on I’m feeling every wave. And it hurts. I didn’t want to ruin my girlfriend’s experience so I forged ahead trying to ignore the feelings of impending doom. Then, a more frightening thought popped into my head. I’m twenty minutes from shore. No matter how sick I was about to become nobody could rescue me. We paddled on, but my brain jolted me with a brilliant idea.

Turn around. Right now.

I could barely speak by this point. I muttered out loud that I had to turn around. Bet and the guide were a distance in front of me. She yelled to ask what was wrong. That’s when I puked. All over myself. I was so motion sick I couldn’t even turn my head to puke into the water. I puked right down the front of my bare chest and watched as it pooled into my swim suit. I thought about jumping in the water but I was worried that I wouldn’t have the strength to get back on the board. Beth and the instructor turned their heads away in disgust. I must have been downwind. For good measure I heaved guts seven more times.

As I mentioned earlier, barfing while sober provides no relief. I prayed to the angel of death to take me. I had nothing to live for. I’m not being dramatic. I legitimately said, “Well, Death, I had a decent run. I still have all my hair. Let’s go.” As per usual, my prayers went unanswered.

I had no choice but to start the journey home. I told Beth and the instructor to go on without me. They followed anyway. I was exhausted by the time I got to the beach. I had to sit in the water for a few minutes to collect myself. Also, this helped rinse off the puke. Beth, seeing that I was now safe, asked to go back out for more paddleboarding. The owner of the rental place came over to me. He said, “Don’t worry, it happens.” I could tell he was lying. I saw at least a hundred other paddleboarders go out and not one came back with bile down the front of their chests. He asked, “Too much partying last night, huh?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the only partying I did was to eat both a seafood appetizer and seafood entree in the same meal.

I drank a bottle of water and passed out on the sand for ninety minutes.

When I woke up Beth was putting her board away and I felt fine again. I wish that I had a photo of my face when I was sick, but you can’t bring your camera while paddleboarding. It would have made a great animated gif – my paddleboard changing color from white to pink. You’ll have to use your imagination, and if I’m even a halfway decent writer, you have already created the visuals of my experience. I can assure you, it was much worse than you imagined.

This is about the same spot in the water when I barfed. So at least it was a beautiful setting, right?

group paddle board photo credit: 1_9_16 am paddleboard tour Lido Key Florida 04 via photopin (license)

In 2012 I challenged myself to write every day for a  year. The first month was trying but after that I became proficient. My mind started searching during the day for topics to write later.  I’d be riding  the subway and an idea would hit and I start typing furiously on my phone. Now I just listen to Howard Stern. At home I write a few Twitter jokes and then to bed.

I’ve noticed over the past few years doing less and less of the things I used to enjoy. I rode my bike to work for years and then abruptly stopped last summer. Getting to the gym is a rare occurrence. I’m not sleeping as much as I should, and I’m wasting more time on television – something I never did before.

Despite playing guitar regularly for over twenty-five years I haven’t been picking it up but once a month.

My girlfriend said not that long ago that, “You have so many opinions and judgements about things. And they’re almost all negative.” She’s not wrong. And to know her, you’d understand  she’s not belittling or criticize. I have become cynical, pessimistic, and downright grumpy.

I’m a very nice person and fun to be around, but behind the scenes I just don’t look forward to much. Each weekend social activity is met with a “I don’t wanna do that!” mind-voice an hour before I’m to leave. I always go, of course, but I don’t want to. Many times these are things I used to enjoy with friends.

Not everything has gone to pot. Career-wise things are great, my relationship is strong, and I’m still taking care of my life in most respects. I wouldn’t say I feel happy in general, however.

But there’s one thing guaranteed to make me feel good – writing. So why did I stop?

I don’t suspect it matters, the reason. Knowing why things are screwed up doesn’t usually change things for me. After five years of therapy I have cognitive understanding of my issues. But what am I actually doing to fix stuff? Not much.

Nothing brings me more joy than to read back the next day what I had written the night before. I’m not Joyce, Faulkner, or even Bombeck. Often times my posts aren’t funny, and this is a humor blog.

But I’m proud of the work for one reason. It’s me sitting down and doing something hard. And nothing creates more pride and well-being than that.

If all I ever did the rest of my life was focus on difficult activities that brought me high levels of pleasure then I’ll have lived fulfilled.

I don’t need internet fame, or blog awards, or even comments underneath these posts. I get enough validation on Twitter if  I’m craving attention. It’s fun when people dig something I write on the blog, but I have no control over the impact or who’s affected.

All I care about is finding the courage to do what’s tough. Hard stuff is hard,  but it’s also the most fulfilling.

I made a commitment to write tonight. I knew I wouldn’t have anything planned or prepared. I knew I would be sitting at a blank screen. I knew it would be scary. It is.

I’m going to stumble a bit creatively until it clicks. That’s the process. I wish I could just start back up at the top of my game, but I’m not at the top of my game. I’m weak. Will have to lift the little weights for now.

I’m going to read this back tomorrow morning as I board the red-line train  heading  south. I’ll cringe  at parts. I’ll like other parts. I’ll get the end and probably read it again.

And then a feeling of warmth will lightly tug at the corners of my mouth. I will smile.

photo credit: gtrwndr87 via photopin cc

My girlfriend is allergic. She’s a good sport when she visits and takes a Benadryl which clears up her symptoms. But how long am I going to make her pop meds to be comfortable?

We’re only six months into our relationship. Neither of us has gone ring shopping or started practicing the Viennese waltz for our first dance. This partnership is healthy and progressing at a normal clip. We both have our own homes and see each other a few times a week. That’s plenty.

This is the healthiest relationship I’ve experienced. Part of it is choosing the most compatible woman for my craziness. The other part is all the work I’ve done to minimize my craziness. While we just crossed the half-year mark in the relationship, I just passed the five-year relationship mark with my therapist. I work on stuff.

My cat is important to my well-being. She’s coming up on six years and has been a loving companion. When I arrive home from work she runs over and brushes up against my leg. Pantaloons is affectionate without being needy.

She’s also in love with the dog.

You already know that I bring my dog to work in a backpack that I take on the subway. After greeting me she rushes over to the backpack and waits for it to be unzipped. The dog springs free and the cat follows her and starts to rub her head against the dog’s body. They sleep together, too. Pantaloons is actually much bigger than Meepers the chihuahua. The often curl up together next to my body while we all pass out. I’ve noticed that their sleep cycles are synced – within seven minutes of falling asleep (I’ve timed this) they start dreaming simultaneously and have paw, nose, and eye twitches. It’s wild to see them shaking together.

There’s a ritual that happens every night before we drift off. The dog, since she’s the alpha, walks over to Pantaloons and extends her neck in front of the cat’s face. The dog is then groomed, first with the neck, then moving down to her shoulders and back, by the cat’s tongue. She licks the dog for five minutes. Since cats have that sandpaper tongue thing, I imagine the dog likes the sensation. Pantaloons is purring wildly during the entire cleaning.

Now, many cats are stinkers. We’ve all met some. Your grandmother’s, for example. Standoffish and stoic, these unholy terrors bite and scratch anyone who dares come near. For these felines, drowning them in a river would not be unjust. So, it’s not like I’m a de facto cat lover.

But mine is solid. Sure she spees on anything I leave on the floor, and I don’t trust her not to soil the bedspread in my second bedroom, but other than the urination thing, she’s great.

The cat also loves my girlfriend, Beth. Even though Beth cannot touch her due to allergies, Pantaloons is crazy for her. She constantly brushes up against her while sitting on the couch and tries to sit in Beth’s lap. The cat never even sits in my lap, for chrissakes. Also, when we sleep Beth will wake up with Pantaloons perched atop her belly, purring loudly.

The reality is, though, that you can’t marry a broad who is allergic to cats and have a cat. It’s unfair.

Last week I started to come out of the denial that we would all live together. I’m sure if Beth and I were to take the next step it would be at least a year away. That means I have some good time left with Pantaloons. It’s sad to look at her and realize that she won’t be with me forever. I know this horrible inevitability that she doesn’t.

Once it happens I’ll be sad and then get over it with time. Loss has a predictable grief cycle. However, I’m wondering if now isn’t the hardest part. To stay with the discomfort of a future loss is not easy for me. There’s no solution for this pain except to celebrate the cat as often as I can.

Now, if you excuse me I have to go beat the shit out of her for missing the litter box. AGAIN.

Well, this is not entirely true. I did post a story last week about how it was discovered that my girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend is now seriously dating a woman I used to see ten years prior.

You may have to read that twice. There isn’t an easier way to explain it.

It is an amazing coincidence and a hell of a fun story to put on the blog. I had to take it down, however, as it violated some boundaries. First, the story didn’t have that much to do with me. I was only one of the four players involved. Second, it had not yet been revealed to this guy that I had dated his girlfriend. There is a chance he would have stumbled across this blog and found out. Third, I had accidentally revealed some details about my girlfriend that weren’t fair to her.

I thought of rewriting the story to protect everyone, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. It had to be unpublished and now it’s in the vault.

About once a year I write something that ultimately has to come down. It’s always for the same reason – I have violated someone’s privacy. And in small ways that I don’t realize at the time. It’s a good reminder to keep this blog focused on the one person willing to violate his privacy – me.

Okay – so what’s up with me? Why haven’t I been writing?

I’m not lazy, so that’s not it.

Simple – I don’t have any ideas!

Recently I’ve been going on a SiriusXM and podcast binge. On the subway to work (45 minutes) I do nothing except stay entertained with talk shows. Then I’m at the office all day where I’m busy making a living. On the way back, more podcasts and satellite radio. Then it’s home where I stay occupied with television and other distractions.

I know that to have ideas I actually must take time out of my day to let ideas emerge. Which means I have to get quiet for a least a little while. This I haven’t done.

While on vacation in Nicaragua I assumed I’d amass a huge number of stories to write about when I got back. But I didn’t. I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t bursting with blog posts. The answer is the same as now – I was too busy on holiday to notice what would make for a fun blog entry.

I do have a few stories to tell which should come out shortly. One about how we shared a treehouse open-air cabana with two bats in the middle of a monkey forest overlooking one of the top surf spots in this half of the world. We had a net around our bed to keep out the bugs. It was crazy. And no hot water – this was an expensive hotel, mind you.

Going forward it’s important for me to get back to basics. Namely, starting each day with this one thought – What the hell should I write about when I get home tonight?

Then I actually have to shut up and listen to my brain. Eventually something comes up and I start typing.

First I released a new version of my Apple and Android app which include push notifications. Yes, you now get a popup whenever I write something new. Does my narcissism know no bounds?

Also I launched a Twitter web app which pokes around through your followers to see if anyone famous follows you. It’s pointless and silly but so are a majority of the activities in which I participate.

Okay, so now that the housecleaning is out of the way I’d like to publicly state that I’m a fantastic boyfriend.

This is not a proclamation from my ego. Believe me, there are many areas of life where I’m not proud. Just ask my therapist. She gets to hear all about it every Tuesday.

However, I have made a simple decision in my current relationship which has transformed the intimacy to a level I had never experienced before.

Years ago I was out at a party. There was a couple and the man was holding his girlfriend’s hand as they walked around the room. I watched them interact over the course of the evening and I noticed something that, at the time, seemed strange. He was constantly checking in with her and asking her what she needed.

He would make sure she had a full drink. Went around introducing her to his friends. Made sure she was having a good time.

Now, I know this couple. He’s not a controlling guy.  She’s not needy – in fact, she’s independent. However, you could see her appreciation each time he did something to show her he cared. It was obvious that she was the most important person at the party to him.

He understood a principle that I have only recently adopted.

Meeting your partner’s needs is the most important part of a relationship.

My guess is that at this party she felt insecure (she didn’t know anyone). To make her comfortable he never left her side. He was constantly touching and engaging her.

My girlfriend at the time remarked, “Wow – that’s a real man. Look at how he takes care of his woman.”

It took me seven years before I adopted this into practice. That’s not to say I was a jerk to my previous romances. I wasn’t. Often I tried my hardest to do things that I thought a good boyfriend should do. I didn’t, however, pay attention to what the woman actually needed.

This time I’m able to show up for the relationship in a new way. I make sure that my girlfriend’s needs are met first.

Now, I should point out that I’m dating an emotionally healthy person with reasonable needs. That helps.

I’ve paid attention over months and discovered what is most important to her. What makes her feel loved. Where and when she needs support. How to show appreciation in the way that she prefers.

Some of this I’ve learned by flat-out asking. “When you’re feeling sad, what should I do?” Other times I let my intuition take over and I do what comes natural.

The question I keep in the front of my mind is, “Does my woman need anything?” It’s a mantra to me.

When I see an opportunity, more often that not, I take action.

The damnedest thing has happened as a result of this focus. My woman feels like she is the center of my universe. She’s fulfilled.

Now, I’m far from perfect. I make mistakes and screw up in the relationship. She’s not always thrilled with me, I’m sure. But my batting average is solid.

In past relationships I used to worry about my needs being met. I withheld if I wasn’t receiving what I thought was fair. I no longer think or act this way. I now give at my fullest and assume that she will do the same. She does.

I wish somebody when I was younger would have sat me down and said, “If you take care of your partner, odds are they’ll take care of you. But you have to go first.”

Now, will I continue to put the work in as time wears on? I hope so.

(this was written last night, by the way)

When I woke up I felt my normal happy self. But soon, everything changed.

I had an early situation which warranted some anger. Basically a work thing popped up unexpectedly that had me thinking I was being attacked by a certain employee. I lost my cool but took five minutes to calm down before acting. I sent a polite but firm email and received a nasty one back. The coworker called me immediately after and we worked it out over the next fifteen minutes. I still had slight residual anger but I felt better. I have 100% confidence it will get resolved.

I also spent a few hours in traffic today due to a snowfall, but normally that wouldn’t bother me. A mild annoyance. Sure I only went a total of sixteen miles, but I have Sirius/XM and can just zone out listening to the comedy stations.

For some reason, though, the cars next to mine bothered me. I fantasized about smashing into many of them. And I never have road rage.

The air temperature which normally has little effect on me was chilling to my core. I hated the snow and sludge under my boots. I was cold outside, and hot in the car.

I found myself criticizing thoughts that popped into my head. Other people’s decisions, my own mistakes, music that came on the radio. Nothing was good. I was uncomfortable.

I even did a thirty minute meditation which, during that time, removed the negativity. As soon as I popped back to life all the darkest thoughts were there waiting for me.

My girlfriend and I attended a Mac and Cheese contest later in the day. This is one of those events where twenty people compete with unique recipes. I was excited to go. All the food tasted just “okay” to me. I know my mood was affecting my ability to enjoy taste.

We then went to an NBA game – third row tickets. Both of us hadn’t seen the Bulls play in over ten years. This was supposed to be an exciting event.

Thankfully I popped my ADD med right before the game started and the mild euphoria side-effect did kick in for most of the game. But after the final buzzer I was slammed back into my dark reality.

Just a few minutes ago, back home, my girlfriend bumped her knee hard into the coffee table. We were on hold with her internet customer service at the time, and I just stared at her blankly while she moaned in pain. I knew I should be feeling sympathy for her, but it wasn’t showing up.

Since I’ve been so negative all day, I’ve also had self-judgment about these thoughts and behaviors.

I’ve been critical of myself that, in theory, this should be a great day! I have a loving woman who supports me, I’m healthy and can pay the bills, and I’m lucky to get invited to food events and basketball games. There’s plenty to be thankful for and not anything that we’d all agree was worthy of my reactions.

The darkness felt physical, as if I had no control over it psychologically. Women go through hormonal changes every month that affect their mood without consent. Maybe something like that was going on with me. This was weird.

Since there’s nothing tangible that is looming over my head, I suspect all of these feelings will be gone by morning. I don’t generally wake up with sadness, fear, or anger. I like the mornings and often dance a little on the way from the bed to the bathroom.

My girlfriend put it succinctly. “You’re having a bad day.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense.”

She shrugged. To her, having a bad day is acceptable even when there’s no logic to support the feelings.

As a guy I want to figure things out. Did I do something goofy nutritionally? Did the no-sunlight thing make this happen? Would working out have fixed it? If I would have done psychological exercises, could this have turned me around? I have no answers.

It’s now the end of the night and I’m exhausted. It’s tough being such an asshole all day.

Going to wake up tomorrow and feel better and never know why this happened.

photo credit: country_boy_shane via photopin cc