In order to get my hernia fixed, I first needed to get cleared for surgery.

If you missed part one where I wrote about the discovery of a disgusting belly button hernia, click here to familiarize yourself.

The surgeon who was to perform the hernia operation told me I must first see another doctor who could run the appropriate clearance tests. I guess once you become a surgeon you don’t have to do the low-level stuff. Like how the guy who drives the garbage truck doesn’t leave the driver’s seat. He’s got a guy riding on the back who deals with the actual garbage.

I protested that I didn’t need any tests and he could take my word that I was healthy enough to handle a small incision. My case was admittedly unconvincing as I didn’t have a fancy medical degree and my knowledge of gastroenterology was limited to knowing that word means “gut stuff.” I further weakened my position by acknowledging that I hadn’t read the medical questionnaire I was handed at the beginning of my appointment. He frowned when I told him this. But, c’mon, does anyone actually pour through those questions with precision? I simply checked “no” to every disorder, disease, or preexisting condition. If this was a more serious medical issue, like a triple heart bypass, I’d take the “Have you ever bled from the eyeballs?” question more seriously.

But even if I had completed the medical questionnaire correctly he would have made me get cleared for surgery anyway. It’s a malpractice thing. Lawyers ruin everything, right? I mean, until you need a lawyer to sue someone because they said you have a tiny wiener on Snapchat and though the message self-destructed a few people saw it and your reputation had been damaged enough to sue for restitution. I wouldn’t know because I don’t have a tiny wiener. Seriously. Let’s clear that shit up right quick.

Upon arrival at the medical testing facility I met the general practitioner who would perform the necessary exams. And while I feel that salespeople in general are annoying, I had to hand it to this guy. He was the best up-seller (note – not a word) I’ve ever seen. Halfway through the blood work he asks, “Hey, when’s the last time you had a physical?” It had been over a year and he said, “Should we tack it on?” I was already in my underwear so I said, “Sure.”

After the physical I was upsold again. “Hey, you’re dating, right?” I nodded. “You probably want to check for STDs, then. Should I perform the HIV test?” I told the doctor he did not need to sell me on an HIV test. In fact, I told him that for the rest of our relationship as a doctor-patient, he never again needed to ask me for permission to perform this test. He should just do the test. I don’t care if it’s free or costs $300. HIV is an important piece of information and I told him I would never say, “No thanks. I’m good.”

When he came back with the HIV-negative results a few minutes later, he pushed on. “You know, since we’re doing all this other stuff do you want us to test for every STD?” I said, “Once again, you never need to ask me that.” This doctor was now batting 1.000.. As he’s pricking my finger for herpes or whatever I asked, “Wait – does anyone actually turn down the STD test?” He said that many people do. Which made me feel superior to those people. Which felt good.

After all the tests were completed, he announced me I was in excellent shape for surgery, I added, “..also, in excellent shape to hit the disco tonight for some action, right Doc?” Not my best joke. “Actually,” he said, “We won’t know about the full STD results for three days. We’ll call you when they come in.”

I asked that they not call me unless it was bad news. I’d rather not be bothered. However, if they find out that I’m ridden with chlamydia, please go ahead and send word. He said that it was protocol to call with the results, positive or negative. I waived him off and said, “Seriously, just call if there’s bad news.”

A nurse called a few days later and told me the lab results came in and that I was negative on all STDs. I thought of making a joke telling her I went to an EDM concert over the weekend and that all hell broke loose and I’d need to get rescanned, but thought better of it.

I once dated a girl whose favorite genre was EDM. Every time I walked into her townhome that awful music was playing. And I’d have to take deep breaths until the feeling of wanting to smash the stereo over her head would leave me. It’s too stressful to date a chick with bad taste in music.

Now I knew I was healthy enough to get my hernia fixed, and healthy enough to start dating. The girl I was seeing at the time ended the relationship around right after this exam. Smart on her end because she was going to have to drive me to the hospital and sit there during the procedure. Like any good boy I called my mother and she was happy to fill the role.

In the next installment I’ll talk about how the procedure went (spoiler – I now have two belly buttons), and how after I went to a first date with a girdle.

photo credit: Tom Simpson Figure Slimmer, 1955 via photopin (license)

To be fair, Allison tried on this one.

She wrote me a few days ago asking to bow out of this specific edition. Allison had just taken on two new clients and was now travelling a good chunk of the time. She kept attempting to write this piece but wasn’t happy with it. (After reading her drafts, I concur) Then she did that thing that all weirdos like her and I do – we go all or nothing. In a frazzled state she said, “I can’t commit to this any longer!” She was having a moment. I told her to have her moment, and that I’d handle this one. She’ll come back in the next one. She’s just a spaz.

Here’s what I wrote announcing Allison’s temporary departure.

In visiting Allison last week in her native Ronkonkoma​, we (D.J. and Allison) ate fondue at a local juke joint. Allison’s nerves got the better of her and she drank an entire fifth of white zinfandel during the appetizer course. We were asked to leave as Allison became belligerent when she suspected the waitress of “giving me a look probably because she’s jealous of my legs.” Allison, too intoxicated to drive, left her 2015 Honda Accord in the parking lot and we shared a Lyft back to her flat. Thankfully her roommates slept through Allison crashing into every piece of furniture on the way to her master bedroom. She passed out face first onto her duvet and I did the same next to her. In the morning, for a lark I told Allison that I had enjoyed our vigorous lovemaking, but that she should get tested in the coming weeks. She exploded with violent rage and accused me of sexual misconduct, but before I could explain the joke, I found myself outside her condo – door slammed in my face. She still has my iPhone charger, and I don’t dare ask her to mail it back. She’s pretty peeved about the whole thing, even though all I really did was peek through her underwear drawer for a few seconds whilst she snored. I’m going to give it a few weeks before I ask for her to write the column, and I suspect her self-esteem is low enough to consider partnering again.

None of this is true, of course. I’ve never met Allison Arnone in person. I’m not 100% certain she exists. But I’m excited to keep doing this stupid column about your stupid problems. Enjoy.

My best friend and I live four hours apart, so we don’t get to see each other in person very often. We’re also both very busy with kids and family, so phone calls are once a month and very long — on her end. I hardly get to speak. She drones on and on about people I don’t know, complains about her mother, and tries to sell me products from all four of her different independent consultant/representative businesses, from beauty to nutrition to candles to teas — all the while knowing I’m living paycheck to paycheck. Every time I get off the phone, my blood pressure has risen. I love this woman dearly. We’ve been through a lot together, but I can’t seem to even squeeze in an interesting or amusing comment or two. Help.

D.J. – Okay, time for some tough love. It’s you, not her. That’s the bad news. She’s a selfish narcissist with an agenda. Nothing unique there. Tons of people like that roaming around. But… you’re the one who chooses to be friends with a selfish narcissist with an agenda. Here’s the solution – learn how to set boundaries. Work on your own self-esteem and guess what? These people either get in line or disappear. Because a truly healthy person doesn’t attract friends like that. Since I’ve been a tad rough on you, I’m going to end with some good news. She’s unconscious of her own nuttiness. You have the chance to change. She never will. So – change, ding dong!

She watches NON STOP IDIOT (FOX) NEWS. Need I say more? Okay, I will. She quotes idiotic, untrue, totally delusional political factoids at me. I keep saying, WE CANNOT TALK POLITICS. But she continues. I want to stab her in the eye with a fork. Should I?

D.J. – I’ve been listening to Donald Trump a lot recently in speeches and stuff, and he says FOX news is the best news source. And he’s the president! And there’s no way I’m smarter than the president. I barely made it through correspondence school! Plus, he is a big shot developer and hosted a TV show. That’s kind of badass, right? WE SHOULD OBEY OUR LEADERS.

Some like to think that their lover is their best friend. I thought so, at least. We did nearly everything together. I got my best friend a job at a restaurant. I drove her to and from work everyday and night, when she didn’t drive my car herself. She introduced me to a guy “friend” from work…”you’ll really like him” she said. One day she called me and said “hey, come meet me and Vinny at the bar I want you to meet him.” Surely, I agreed. He shook my hand, bought me a beer, and then a few days later proceeded to fuck my girlfriend. I kicked her out of my house the evening that I found out. Since then she’s keyed my car, threatened me, had men threaten me, try to call me for a shoulder to cry on after other men have dumped her…needless to say I’ve blocked her on all social media (she got so bad I had to block her on PINTEREST!) as well as her phone number…she still calls me to this day. She cheated on me after a year of being “best friends” in September of 2016. The end. Thank god.

D.J. – From what I understand, you’re a lesbian who lost her best friend and lover to a greasy Italian dude. Look, this is what greasy Italians do – they turn lesbians straight. It’s in their DNA. Just ask Allison. While she was never a girl-lover, she ONLY dates guys from Long Island with IROC Camaros (aka Italians). They’re hard to resist, from what I’ve read. So while I can justify your friend’s affair, I cannot condone her keying your car. You should hit back by throwing a bucket of red paint all over Vinny’s leather sport coat

She wants to be in a relationship, but does nothing to put herself out there in the dating world

D.J. – We’ve been poisoned by romantic comedies that suggest that Mr. Right just falls into your life, like when he’s seated next to you at a baseball game and he reaches for a foul ball and trips and ends up in your lap and then you fall in love but his best friend is kind of a jerk and he grabs your ass at a happy hour and you have to decide whether to tell him and you do and it strains his relationship and his friend lies and said you grabbed HIS butt and then he dumps you and then he finds out his friend was lying and to win you back he convinces the guy who runs the scoreboard at the stadium to video him apologizing to you in front of 45k fans. I guess what I’m saying is – tell her to hang out at the ballpark!

My brother publishes stories about my dad’s penis.

D.J. – I did publish a pair of stories about my dad’s pair, and I’m assuming this question came from my sister. To which I say this to her – You are free to write anecdotes on your blog about mom’s vagina. It’s a solid formula to drive web traffic. And we’re both in marketing, so we’re used to selling our souls.

Allison – When I saw this question and realized it had to be from D.J.’s sister, I laughed and told him we’re including this submission in the post.  I then felt bad for her because I realized she had to be related to D.J., and that just sucks.

I love my BFF, but she has the BIGGEST mouth. I want to confide in her and tell her personal things about myself, my family, my love life (or lack thereof) and other friends and it ALWAYS comes out that she’s told other people what I said. We’ve known each other a long time and she’s great, but how can I get her to keep her trap shut??

D.J. – Short answer is that you can’t. She’s going to blabber forever. So, if you’re harboring a terrorist sleeper cell in your neighborhood, you may want to keep that information to yourself. No wait – I’ve got it! TELL HER YOU’RE HARBORING A TERRORIST CELL. She’s blab to Betty, who in turn will blab to Sally, and before you know it, the FBI will be knocking at your door. But, hey – you’re not a terrorist, so no big deal, right? Then, guess whose door they’re hitting next? Your best friend. She’ll likely be put away on a felony charge of something or other. Then when she gets out of jail a few years later, odds are she’ll shut up about your secrets going forward.

She uses my jokes on social media, then doesn’t credit me. Then when I use my own joke, I’m accused of stealing from her.

D.J. – Here’s what you have to realize – 99% of people aren’t funny. But everyone thinks they’re funny. If you’re running around quoting one liners from Will Ferrell movies, you’re not funny. Don’t confuse memorization with humor writing. I was dating a woman last year who was wonderful in every way – and perhaps her most endearing quality is she would say, “I’m not funny.” And she never tried to make a joke. I loved that self-awareness and acceptance. That being said, I had to dump her. I can’t be with an unfunny person. Wait, I feel like I’ve made this all about me. Oh well. You’re on your own!

But are Icelandic women hot?

I’m surprised that I’ve received this question since I’ve returned from my trip. Three individuals have asked this independently, and it strikes me as odd for a number of reasons. First, I’m forty and my friends are around the same age. Everyone is married, mature, and with responsible careers. This is not a question anyone my age should be asking. Second, the trip to Iceland was not sponsored by Tinder and I didn’t check to see if there was a “Hot Broads of Reykjavik” meetup group. Third, I was traveling with my sister and her husband, and the idea of scoping out local trim didn’t seem like a healthy move. Fourth, I’m dating someone which further distances me from such silliness. Fifth, and most importantly, I truthfully don’t have an answer for this question. And I’d like to talk about that further.

What I’ve noticed visiting foreign countries is that there’s an inverse relationship between how well the country is doing on its own and the overt friendliness of the natives. A negative correlation, if you will. I crafted this simple chart to drive the point firmly into Iceland’s frozen ground.

In other words, the less a country needs you to come spend money, the less they tend to kiss your fanny. Just head down to the Caribbean where every busboy becomes your new best pal. They need your dough.

Iceland has a lot going for it. There’s almost no crime, the citizens are well-compensated at their jobs, and they just seem as a whole to have their shit together. Last year they ranked third in the world in overall happiness. The U.S. ranked 13th. Icelanders focus on education, hard-work, and family. On a walking tour our guide told us if we see a homeless person not to be afraid, as an Icelandic homeless person would never approach and ask you for money. We didn’t see even one homeless person, by the way.

We were staying on the main strip, about a block from the prime minister’s office. The most important person in Iceland’s office is a nondescript two story building. His car was parked in the adjacent lot and we witnessed him walking to and from the office. No security. He was – right there. No big deal.

Iceland has no soldiers. Part of the reason is that Iceland isn’t interested in meddling in foreign affairs. They have enough going on with inclement weather and volcanoes that erupt. But what about defense? Ha! (imagine that laugh with a hearty Icleandic viking timbre) No nation in their right mind would try to occupy Iceland. 80% of the country is uninhabitable and the other 20% isn’t exactly Club Med.

And even though I spent six days in Iceland, I still don’t have a sense of the Icelandic people. I would say that they are polite and stoic. But I can’t recall even one Icelandic person coming over to me on their own to strike up a conversation. On New Year’s Eve I went over to the two singers performing at the party we attended. Both are locally famous. When I told Svavar Knútur that his song, Wanderlust, was one of the best songs I’d heard in some time, he said simply, “Thank you.” I took a picture with Una Stef and she seemed genuinely surprised that someone would want a photo with her.

It’s not that Icelandic people are unfriendly – they’re very helpful and kind. But they don’t seem overly concerned or impressed that you’re visiting. And we do the same thing in the United States. If a traveler from Australia is visiting the U.S., it would never occur to an American to say, “Thank you so much for visiting our amazing country, Sheila!” (It’s a fact that 87% of Australian women are named Sheila). We don’t fawn over visitors because, well, we don’t need them. And Iceland is the same way. People have only been vacationing there for fifteen years.

All of this leads me to my original statement that I have no idea if Icelandic women are hot. I didn’t see or speak with a ton of them. Well, I did see them – but since the temperature was always around 32 degrees Fahrenheit, everyone is bundled up at all times. You can’t tell what’s doing under all those sweaters.

But even if Icelandic women were the hottest women in the world, it still wouldn’t have impressed me. You’d have to peel off seven layers of clothes before even getting to see boobs. And that’s just too much work for me. Plus, as mentioned earlier, the woman I’m seeing wouldn’t have appreciated it. She’s square that way.

So I’m sorry to report that I can’t comment on the overall attractiveness of Icelandic females. I can comment on eating whale, however. One of their delicacies. It was gross.

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)

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.

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.

In my effort to show appreciation for everyone that comments, I have committed to responding to each in 2014. The process is a lot of fun and often what you write is funnier and more poignant than what’s in my post. I started tonight by responding to fresh comments from the past few days. Then I went back in time.

I found a ton of comments that had never been replied to over the years.

For fun I decided to pick posts at random.

I thought it would be hilarious to respond to readers from 2010-2012. My system is set up to send an email to the comment author immediately after I reply. Therefore two hundred emails went out from post comments that were several years old. I’m sure many of the people no longer read my blog and probably didn’t know what to make of the notification.

Can you imagine how you’d react if two years after writing a blog comment you got a response?

First you wouldn’t remember the post or maybe even the blog. Then you’d click the link to see what this was all about and the post might spark a faint memory. You’d see your words in the comment section but not remember writing them. You would then notice my reply underneath with today’s date. Next you might spend a few moments wondering about the mental well-being of an blogger going back this far to write his readers.

Let me tell you – replying to two hundred comments is not an easy task. I attempted to conjure up a decent retort to each response. So essentially I spent four hours writing jokes tonight. I’m exhausted.

I also found emails (some over a year old) where people had written in and never received a response. I responded.

There are still several thousand comments with no replies. I’m not sure if I can ever fully empty that inbox. But I’ll try. It’s fun to go back and read what people responded toe. For example – I missed this the first time around but somebody attacked me this fall when I called myself a professional blogger. I was simply referring to that I make some dough from my site. Anyway, this reader got offended and wrote a nasty comment about how I wasn’t successful at writing.

One of you came to my aid and ripped this person apart. It was awesome. I had completely missed the exchange the first time around.

In going back I found people that had been commenting frequently and then disappeared. Did they get fed up with never receiving a reply? Did they stop enjoying my posts? Did they plumb forget about me? Maybe they just stopped reading blogs in general?

Bloggers have a special relationship with their commenters. It’s a shared intimacy and develops over time. I’m sad that some people have stopped commenting and  I find myself missing them. Then again, there are newer people who are writing in and I’m excited for that, too.

Okay, my fingers are woozy. Time to go soak them in a bowl of that stuff old people bathe in.

photo credit: dirtygirlsuds via photopin cc

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Drinks at a bar in downtown Chicago. This is a woman I’ve talked with once over the phone. We met on an online dating website. I have absolutely no idea how it’s going to pan out. She may be the woman of my dreams – or a dud. Or I may be a dud in her mind while I fall madly in love.

Either way, you won’t see an update where I relay what happened.

On virtually every first date my blog comes up in conversation. There are times where I brag about it because I want to seem like a big shot. Other times they Google’d me and found it on their own. In a phone call prior to the first date it may have been discussed when asked what I do in my spare time. And in other instances it’s not broached at all.

Once I had a woman tell me, “I’m going to go home and read your blog and if I don’t like it I’ll tell you.” I found that repellent – not that she might not like it, but that she would mention that she didn’t like it. Could you imagine, “Hey Picasso – can’t wait to see your new cubist stuff. I’ll let you know if it’s a pile of shit. Oh, by the way, thanks for picking up dinner.”

I always promise never to write about the dates and that I respect the privacy of the dating experience. Good or bad, it’s just something that most people don’t want out there. I can dig it.

I’ve had enough dates to know that, for many women, the idea of dating a guy with a blog freaks them out. Some people are very private and have strict boundaries around their personal activities. Most don’t realize I have enough fodder with my own thoughts and behaviors to even think of writing about them. I’m pretty sure, however, it’s been the cause of a few canceled dates.

Many women respond positively, however, and I do get a lot of excitement surrounding my writing. And, quite frankly, I need someone who thinks keeping an online journal is a cool idea. The blog is how I express myself creatively (my art, so to speak). I’m probably not going to stop regardless of my partner’s objections.

I will, however, continue to focus on me and not other people.

It’s weird when someone reviews my blog prior to going out because they come in with preconceived notions of my life. They already know part of me – whatever they read. The challenge is that I talk about what I’m experiencing that day. If I’m having a sad night and I write about fear and loneliness, they might think I’m a depressive. Or if I’m self-congratulatory I could be viewed as a narcissist.

Some people find out about the blog and refuse to read it because they want to get to know me through our personal interactions.

It’s not that I want to write about my dating. Even though there are a few funny stories, most are just nice drinks/dinners with nice people. Not much to reveal.

I’ve been dating for about eight months and I never thought it would take this long to find someone that I connected to long-term. Many have dumped me – I’ve even dumped a few. I don’t want to go another eight months without a relationship, but I’ve learned I have very little control. It’s caused me to examine what I may be doing to choose the wrong people, or what I might do to drive them away. Or, maybe it isn’t me at all but just the natural process of dating.

Either way it’s both exciting and disappointing. That’s a sad way to end this post, and I’m not sad about it at all most of the time. It’s fun to meet new people, and I’ve created three wonderful and long-lasting friendships. I’m grateful to these women and glad to be a part of their lives.

Once I get a girlfriend I’ll probably be writing about us and attempt to find the balance between talking of my life and respecting personal boundaries. Until then I am tight-lipped about the early courtships.

Oh, and if you have any hot friends in Chicago, send ’em my way. No nutsos, please.