Since You Asked

That was a red flag, but I decided to give him another chance, since I liked him, and I thought maybe he had been nervous. And besides, he kept calling. Finally, I told him that if he was really serious about liking me, he needed to show it and make an effort to come visit. Amazingly, he bought a plane ticket.

(By the way, we hadn’t seen each other in seven years and were both newly single when I contacted him last August.)

So, we had a great three-day weekend in the town where I’m a graduate student. We flirted like crazy, went out with my friends, enjoyed the bars and restaurants — you know, all the dating stuff that people do. And he stayed with me in my studio apartment.

But did anything romantic happen? No. Which is OK, although I was somewhat disappointed, and my friends were baffled. (“Is he gay?” they asked. I said, as that oft-cited book proclaims, “Maybe he’s just not that into me.”)

Actually, we held hands (which I initiated). And I asked him at one point, since things seemed to be going really well, if he wanted to curl up in my bed with me to sleep (believe me, I had no intention of trying to seduce him, but would not have complained if we had made out). He said no. Because I wasn’t getting cues from him that would have made me confident about trying to kiss him, I didn’t attempt to. Holding hands was as far as it went. But I did flirt outrageously with him the whole weekend, and he flirted back.

All in all it was a great time, and when he left I felt excited about the possibility of seeing him in May when I’m done with school.

Then I didn’t hear from him for two weeks. I even sent him a “thanks for your visit” gift and he never even called to say he got it. When I finally did talk to him (eventually he called), he said that during his weekend here I was way too direct and he felt that I had had an “agenda” that he wasn’t a part of. He said that he thought he was just coming out for a friendly, old-friends-getting-reacquainted type visit … and this after flirting with me for months and telling me many times over the phone that he liked me, couldn’t wait to see me, etc. (By the way, the physical attraction factor is not at issue here.)

I was so shocked I didn’t know how to respond. I replied that naturally I had hoped something romantic might happen, but that a hope is not an expectation, and that I didn’t expect anything from him. I said it’s only human to flirt with someone you like, and I am human, but that I was sorry he found it off-putting. I said I wish he had told me he was feeling that way and I would have toned down the flirting, if not stopped it completely (naturally I don’t want to make people uncomfortable!). But he seems to have great difficulty talking about his feelings and could not bring himself to tell me at the time that he felt pressured.

I am totally confused by his behavior. One of my friends thinks he can’t deal with intimacy, which is why it was all great for him over the phone but not in person. Another says that I probably intimidate him because I’m attractive, smart, successful, independent and direct. Another said that men don’t like it when you show how much you like them (the “hard-to-get” theory, I guess). I think he’s screwed up after his breakup with his ex-girlfriend (they dated for five years and she was with him through his dad’s death from cancer), as he has complained to me many times that he felt he was “manipulated” by her.

Is this man completely crazy? Is he emotionally inept and unable to communicate? That is what I’ve taken from this. I’m disappointed he jilted me, but mostly just angry that I ever could have taken an interest in such a nincompoop.

Can you please explain the male psyche to me? Or at least this male’s psyche?

Hopelessly Confused by Men

Dear Hopelessly Confused,

It is not unusual for me to have nothing useful to say. It is only unusual for me to admit it.

Over the past two days (make that now five days!) I have tried to respond to your letter several times, but each time I found I had produced nothing but small-minded carping, grandiose exposition and theorizing. It sounded as though I were angry with you, a person I have never met.

This happens from time to time. One can publish. Or one can wait. I chose to wait and see what would come.

I waited until I thought I had something wise and useful to say, and then I wrote another column.

That column, too, once read by another, turned out to be full of small-minded carping and grandiose exposition and theorizing. It sounded downright mean this time. Underneath it was this tone — I know this tone; my wife knows this tone — this tone of the old intolerant father, superior and cold and angry at you for not knowing more than you know and for not being more in control and cooler and more measured, angry at you for displaying yourself as you are, real and true and flawed like all of us, like me, like this guy you went to the prom with.

So there I was confronting my own self, my own towering ego, my own fear, my own reluctance to feel, to imagine what you went through.

It’s not that hard, really, just to imagine what you went through, what it felt like. Sometimes one just doesn’t feel like doing it. It would be easier to skate along pretending to have answers.

But we don’t have answers. We just have feelings. For days this went on. And why? What was the source of my reluctance? Did I not really want to help you? Did I want to punish you?

So unbelievably I am trying yet again, and this is what you get to see this time: the actor putting on his makeup, trying out his lines, throwing the script down and starting over.

Having played the part of the imperious, cold-hearted patriarch for days now I am desperately trying to get down to the real. It’s not all that complicated. You got your feelings hurt. Is that so hard to admit? You really were excited about this visit and it was a disappointment.

Perhaps you did not even know how much you wanted something to happen with this person. You thought you knew but your feelings were stronger than you realized. And now you find yourself trying to act in control, looking for an explanation.

Stop looking for an explanation. Search your heart. Get honest. Get so honest it hurts. This was deeply embarrassing. It was painful. It was a bigger disappointment than you realized. You had more invested in it than you thought. But these things happen. People get their wires crossed.

It had been seven years. That’s a long time. You wanted it to be a certain way, the way it had been in high school, only better. And you wanted to show him off to your friends, and have everything be perfect.

I was wondering what he meant with this “agenda” business but now I think I know. It’s all the planning you put into this, all the thought. Naturally you wanted everyone to like him and him to like everyone. You wanted him to see your interesting, exciting life and be interested. You wanted your friends to see him and understand, through him, a bit more about who you are and where you come from.

And so what happened with him? Why was he such a dud? He may have been overwhelmed. He may have been annoyed that you had gone to such trouble to arrange things; he may have felt you were displaying him. You deny that you had “expectations.” But something was going on. He felt put on the spot.

And also no doubt he has changed in seven years. He has had experiences with women since then; he has found what he is comfortable with, what works for him. He felt perhaps that you were addressing him as though he were that high school senior you went to the prom with.

He has been through a lot since then. His dad died of cancer. It is a terrible thing to lose your dad early in life, when you’re still young enough to want to show him what you can do, what you can be. And this girl he felt manipulated by: He must be sensitive in that area now. Apparently people are tugging him this way and that. What do people want from him?

Look what has happened. His dad died! His girlfriend left him! He’s trying to heal from big loss. And then he finds himself in a situation full of inner conflict for him, full of the potential for failure and shame, and he lacks sufficient grace and tact to spin it. So he gets hurt and you get hurt. And he lashes out and you lash back.

And why, if he didn’t want romance, was he flirting with you so in the first place? Maybe he doesn’t even know what he wants. Maybe flirting with you just feels good and it’s safe and familiar. He’s hurt and lonely and it feels good to flirt. But he’s wounded. It’s not just that he can’t handle intimacy. That’s a little unkind of your friend to say.

He’s been hurt. The wound may have limited his capacity for intimacy; he may have closed down protectively around the wound. But is it wrong to have been hurt, to not be at the top of your game, to be grieving for your father, and grieving for your girlfriend, who not only is gone but who left you with a bad taste in your mouth?

So as we empathize with him we get a fuller picture of a real person who may have had all kinds of real feelings that perhaps he wanted to share but did not feel safe or comfortable sharing, who felt that he was being asked to perform some other role he was not quite prepared to perform, out of his realm, out of his comfort zone, staying in your apartment, unsure what to do. And so now he is angry and hurt and you are angry and hurt.

Call him. Tell him that your friendship is valuable to you and you feel it’s in jeopardy and you want to save it. Admit your disappointment, your shame, your anger. Admit that you were hoping something would happen but it didn’t happen but that’s OK. Why pretend? It was a disaster. These things happen. Let it go. Try to save the friendship.

To be quite frank, I think if there were chemistry between you it would have been there in high school. I think you are destined to be only friends. If you handle this well, perhaps you can be the best of friends for life.

In consolation for this dismaying and uncomfortable event, however, I suggest you find an actual lover. It is not that hard to do. An actual lover is someone who takes your clothes off. He unbuttons them or unzips them or unsnaps them or unties them.

Just find yourself a lover who will unbutton your dress. Do it as medicine to heal these recent wounds.

- – - – - – - – - – - -

What? You want more?

Why? you may ask. Because he is a complete and utter slob! He grew up on a farm and spends lots of time outside tending to his garden and fixing his many lawnmowers that he has fished out of the trash. I spend hours cleaning, all for him to destroy the house in literally a matter of minutes. It is ridiculous. To add insult to injury he does not wash his hands … EVER. Not even after going poo … I feel like I was hoodwinked and bamboozled, because there is no way in hell I would have ever put myself in a situation to live with one of my parents at this point and time in my life. I have expressed my frustration with the situation, but he doesn’t want to ever talk about it. I want to move, but right now I am not financially stable and I am so close to finishing school, I don’t want to jeopardize my studies.

Grown Woman Living in Daddy’s House

Dear Grown Woman Living in Daddy’s House

I don’t think you are an ungrateful daughter. I think you are a person reacting to a shitty situation in an understandable way.

After years of being self-sufficient you’ve been thrown back into dependent daughterhood. That has got to trigger some feelings you’re not prepared for. That’s got to be tough on the ego. It would be hard for it not to matter how well your father handled it.

And he’s not handling it all that sensitively, one must say. When our  survival is symbolically threatened, we sometimes reassure ourselves by making our immediate surroundings clean and healthy and spotless. It’s a good thing to do if you’re feeling threatened and insecure; it can cheer you up to clean house. So here’s an interesting symbolic contradiction: Here you have come to your dad to help you survive, and he is providing for you, yet also doing things that symbolically threaten your survival: Dirt, poo, infection, disease, loss of control!

Subconsciously it may be felt as aggression: Your dad is threatening your survival rather than nurturing it. He’s bringing danger into the house. He’s bringing dirt and disease into the house, meaning, symbolically, into your body. So he’s polluting you when you are trying to regain your strength. The literal-minded may quibble but we’re talking about emotions that take place below our conscious awareness, in the language of symbols.

On the surface he’s doing you a favor, and good for him. But he’s also not admitting your personhood or your power: He’s retaining his own power over his own place. That’s the prerogative of property ownership in a society that worships property. You are expected to grant him the prerogatives of ownership. But he’s not accommodating you, really, as a person. It may even feel as though he’s trying to push you out.

His hospitality may be begrudging; his messing up the house may be passive-aggressive; he probably wants to go on living as he is accustomed to living. There may also be some unspoken disapproval of your reversal of fortune, and perhaps a little unspoken “I told you so,” if you have been too independent for his liking. He may even be enjoying being the father to a relatively helpless daughter once again — a daughter who cannot force him to wipe his feet.

Assuming your parents are divorced, is he also repeating a pattern of conflict he had with your mother? Could be. They could have had fights over just such things. If those fights led to their divorce, you may also be experiencing uncomfortable memories of an earlier symbolic threat to your survival. Also, not to jump ahead, but this could also be a preview of the role reversal that happens as your dad ages and weakens and you take on the role of caretaker, being sure he washes his hands and wipes his feet, as a mother would do in raising a child.

But that’s just the messy symbolic stuff it’s my job to dredge up. On the surface, in the practical present, you’re a capable adult woman in control of her life and career. You’ve made yourself a plan that requires you to do some compromising. That’s what this is: It’s a conscious compromise. You’re still making your own choices. This is just temporary.

You’ve found shelter in a bad time. Your dad is your ally. He loves you. He’s providing you a place.  He’s doing what he can, in his way.

Hang in there, finish your course of study, thank your dad and stay positive. When you look back on this, as uncomfortable as it is now, you’ll be grateful there was a place for you to go. With the passage of time it may even become a fond if bittersweet memory.

I know she loved me more than anything, and she sacrificed a lot to try to give me a good life, but as a kid, I felt as if I was battling her alcoholism for her. I would constantly find single-serving wine bottles stuffed between couch cushions, and it was an almost nightly occurrence for her to drink herself to sleep, leaving the house a mess and me to throw away the empty bottles and rinse out the glasses she would leave next to the couch. After she would go to bed, it was usually a coin flip whether or not she would rise from her sleep to stalk around the house staring blindly at everything and shouting incoherently. More than once she, thoroughly drunk, thought I was a burglar and tried to attack me. The first time this happened I was 11, and in her mind she had gone back in time and thought I was going to steal her baby (me). She nearly strangled me.

What made my childhood much easier was the fact that I had grandparents nearby who did not seem to struggle with alcoholism or poverty or depression. They were good people who seemed to rise above all the stupidity we are capable of. In fact they helped my mother make ends meet on a few occasions, and they always seemed to come to the rescue when we were in a jam. I felt more often than not that my grandparents were like my real parents, and my mother was like some big crazy sister who loved me a lot but was still trying to figure things out.

And from a young age, the lesson they kept quietly teaching me was that alcoholism was a demon in our family. It ran in our blood, and had ruined cousins, uncles and sisters. And the best way to avoid this fate was not to start at all.

And for my part I promised myself that I would never drink, or smoke, or do drugs.

And I never did.

A lot of people may not believe me, but I have never so much as sipped a beer, or taken a drag from a cigarette. And there is my problem. Everyone who knows me knows that I don’t drink, and I feel like I’ve put myself in this box where I will never drink.

This was fine for my early 20s, and in some ways I felt superior for not having blown hundreds of dollars at the bars, or woken up with hangovers, or been so drunk I couldn’t remember what happened to me. I have always been in control of my life, and that is something I take pride in.

But I also feel like there is this whole side to life that I may be missing out on, and that maybe I should relax these rules I’ve created for myself. I feel that a lot of people can’t relate to the fact I don’t drink, and I also would sometimes really like to be able to have a beer with my friends and be their equal, and not this always-sober outsider. A few weeks ago at a champagne brunch with friendly strangers who didn’t know I don’t drink, the waiter poured me a glass of champagne, and when they toasted I held it up and looked at it for a long time before I realized my wife was staring at me.

What to do?

Dear What to Do,

Testing yourself for alcoholism is like testing yourself for flammability. You’re probably not. But what if you are?

“Given the fact that alcohol-dependence seems highly heritable,” why take the risk?

Why not instead ask what needs alcohol might satisfy, and then find other ways to satisfy those same needs? Why not seek safe, life-enhancing alternatives to drinking? Why not read Abraham Maslow and design your life around the quest for peak experiences?

We raise our glasses and drink ceremonially to sanctify some event or passage. We all drink from the same bottle. By imbibing the same drink, we are joined; it is a kind of sacrament. You can mime the gestures but something pulls you to fully engage. Of course it does. This is not just about getting a little champagne in your mouth. It is a powerful ritual.

My suggestion is to find even better ways, more direct, honest and compelling ways to have this same ritual bonding and expression of shared esteem and purpose. I suggest you make this a lifelong pursuit. Make it a way of undoing for good the perhaps multigenerational history of alcoholism in your family.

This way, if those who dispute the role of genes in alcoholism are correct, and behavioral factors are more important, then you will still be doing something to eradicate certain behaviors that were leading to case after case of alcoholism. You will be finding something that members of your family have a particular need for, and satisfying that need.

Look for something that seems cool but not too cool, something you’ve always wanted to do, something you’re drawn to, that’s maybe a little outside your normal range but not totally kooky and weird.

For instance, it may be possible to participate in the ecstatic communality of a sweat lodge. I don’t know. Maybe a sweat lodge would be too weird for you. I don’t know how much facial hair you have, or what your body mass index is. I’m just saying, identify the underlying principle and then find something that suits your social tastes.

That there are things wrong in the world, that there are things so awful in this world that knowledge of them drives us to want to blot them out of consciousness. Read today’s piece by Noam Chomsky, for instance, for a reminder of how thinly “normal American life” veils our history of brutal atrocities.

How are you supposed to think about these things and not feel as though you are going mad? How are you supposed to have a conscience and not feel trapped by history? How are you to take all this in, as a young person? How to reconcile knowledge of evil done in one’s name with the innocent desire to believe in one’s country, to identify with one’s countrymen, to feel strong and patriotic and confident about the future?

These, too, are legitimate questions. So, my friend, I urge you to take seriously the genetic and environmental risk factors for alcoholism, and actively seek ways to have ecstatic experiences in this insane world without killing yourself. Adopt adaptive behaviors that don’t make things worse.

I like to do things that are stressful to the kidneys such as drink coffee, get drunk now and then, trip on plants that are metabolized by the kidneys and liver (this is part of my spiritual practice). Do I say nothing and hope that, come March when she’s testing possible donors, we are not a match? Or do I strain the friendship by admitting to her that I have misgivings about my promise?

Willing Initially

Dear Willing Initially,

You did a good thing. You offered to help.

You may or may not be a compatible donor. But you said these words out of a genuine spirit of generosity and kindness. This is a pretty amazing thing about human beings — that we are inclined toward helping each other. It’s a good thing.

It may turn out that you are a match, but it’s statistically unlikely. “In the case of cousins, your chance of being identical is 1 in 16. In the case of a friend, then your chances vary depending on how common your HLA is,” according to this helpful booklet from Stanford’s Program in History and Philosophy of Science and Technology.

In either case, having second thoughts doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. To donate a kidney is a big thing and it’s natural to have second thoughts. So wait until it’s time for all the potential donors to be screened, and get screened, and then deal with it once you know if you’re a potential donor.

This question and answer page from the University of Maryland Medical Center is very informative. As is this one. 

Give yourself some credit. You spoke out of an impulse toward compassion and selflessness.

If you are indeed a match and you can’t go through with it, no one will fault you for it. But your initial impulse shows you have within you the capacity to help. It’s a precious thing. Think of the worldwide effect of such impulses, if they were carried out millions of times over. Think of the things we could solve if we honored these selfless impulses and our societies were organized to realize them. Think how much needless suffering could be stopped.

You say you use psychedelic plants as part of your spiritual practice. Perhaps one of these trips you can inquire of your spirit guides what is the right thing to do. But you needn’t decide yet. Wait. More will be revealed.

I am very eager to have babies with the man I love. With us now moving, kids are on the back burner because we won’t have health insurance until one of us lands a job with benefits. We had been trying to get pregnant until the decision to move was made because I have decent benefits with my current hateful job. (One of the reasons I haven’t quit, the other main one being that I’m trying to hold this job out till we can move.) I really want kids soon; I have wanted to be a mother since I was 5. But the stress of life and my failing body seem to want other things for me. I had injured my back at work and now am in physiotherapy to heal it, yet I’m still obligated to work my full shifts. Those eight-hour shifts literally drain me. I haven’t had a period in 3.5 months (my doctor insists it’s stress-related). And most recently, my pap test came back with abnormal cells on my cervix. No further tests have been done, but my doctor thinks my back, lack of period and abnormal cells are at least partly because of too much stress. Hard not to be stressed when all these symptoms have made me worry and fret even more about never being able to have children! The more that I worry, the more stressed my body becomes. The more symptoms of the stress I experience, the more I worry. (A huge catch-22.) One of my worst fears is to end up being barren.

On to my other issue. My fiancé and I both smoke marijuana regularly. I will note here that we do not smoke cigarettes at all, nor do we drink alcohol very often. Although I have heard that it can prevent couples from conceiving, I only “slowed it down” when we were trying to get pregnant. My fiancé seems to have his usage under control. He is able to use on a part-time basis and not every evening and every weekend. I am a different story altogether. I use (abuse) marijuana for stress. I rush to get home after work to have the bad memories of the day dissolve into higher thoughts. I am not high at work, but evenings and weekends are full of my usage. It’s the way I’ve taught myself to deal. Although I don’t think marijuana is an “evil drug” that “leads to other drug usage,” I know that I am misusing it. I have never felt the need to try any other drug (besides alcohol and caffeine). But I barely even notice the effects any more. Despite that, I can’t imagine quitting it altogether. I know that if I were pregnant I would not smoke at all, because there is another human being involved who would be affected by it.

But without marijuana, how would I deal with life’s stress? Plus there is some part of me that feels like marijuana is not bad. You ought to know that in my family, a few other people smoke marijuana. My aunt and cousin probably use it once daily, and my mom and brother once or twice a week, and my dad on occasion. While they never permitted any drug usage as a teenager, I found out and smoked with family after turning 19. Obviously this is a huge part of the reason why I can’t seem to convince myself that marijuana is “bad.”

This new city will not have any marijuana contacts for my fiancé and me, and it is my plan to stop smoking when we move. But really, I don’t want to stop at all, and I feel like I’m lying to myself by thinking that a new city will stop me from finding a way to do it. Plus, my fiancé is moving first, and we will be apart for a month (we’ve never been apart for longer than 10 days in the past four years). I know that with him gone, I will want to smoke even more. Especially because I feel like I want to get as much smoking in before I “can’t” anymore.

I know several people who use marijuana more than I do and who firmly believe that no one can get addicted to it. I guess I’m not so sure about this, but I would like to believe it because then I’m just a hippie and not an addict. I worry about the usage affecting the physiotherapy on my back, but since we aren’t trying to get pregnant, I still smoke whenever I want to. My fiancé knows that I smoke too much, he knows that I KNOW that I smoke too much too. But month after month he still brings it home for us. I have tried to quit before, asking him to keep it all hidden and out of sight. This always fails, because I will find it and sneak some or bug and bug him to get it out of hiding for me.

I don’t think I can stop until he stops bringing it into the house and we get rid of all the marijuana paraphernalia that is around our place. If my fiancé doesn’t want to quit with me, I would be disappointed. But as long as he kept everything out of our house and cars, I think I could do it. I really do want children in the long run and better physiotherapy results in the short term. What do I do?

Moving and Shaking

Dear Moving and Shaking,

You are using marijuana to relieve stress.

Stress is your problem. Whether you stop smoking marijuana or not, you need to learn more and better ways to relieve stress.

Start doing tai chi; start doing yoga; meditate; take naps; breathe deeply a lot; do biofeedback. If you are doing any of these activities already, don’t conclude that since you’re doing it a little it must not work. Instead, do it more.

You may need higher doses of yoga to get relief. Also, if you are consuming lots of caffeine, see about cutting back. Try substituting some herbal teas for caffeinated beverages now and then. Notice the difference. Especially in the afternoon, cut out the caffeine so you can get a better night’s sleep.

You will notice things about yourself this way. You will notice the different qualities of consciousness that arise from various techniques. It will be entertaining and interesting. You will notice a gradual improvement in your ability to go through life in a relaxed, worry-free way. Unpleasant activities like work and dealing with power-hungry blockheads will go more smoothly.

During this time, you might want to experiment with not smoking for a time. Pick an occasional time when you are stressed out, and instead of smoking, do 15 minutes of meditation, or some tai chi or yoga.

Don’t try to quit all at once, especially not on your own. Just learn some better relaxation techniques. Take it easy. Look for gradual improvement.

Once you’ve found other ways to relieve stress, you may not feel so fearful about the idea of quitting marijuana for good. Try going without for a few days at a time and see how that goes. You can always smoke. But experience what it’s like to handle life without it. Try to get accustomed to that feeling. You may feel slightly on edge, but take a deep breath of fresh air instead of a hit of weed.

The thing is, whether you call yourself an addict or not, changing habitual behavior is hard, and it’s especially hard to do alone. It’s hard to do without a program. It takes time, effort and support, and there are ups and downs. So I wouldn’t recommend trying to stop smoking marijuana on your own, or just with your fiancé.

As you say, for a variety of reasons, you are going to want to quit. So what I’m suggesting is that you prepare, in these ways, for the day when you will need to quit. I’m sure marijuana gives you other things besides stress relief; it probably gives you a heightened sense of the beauty of life, of tastes and sounds, and of general well-being. These things you may need to seek out in life; I find that there are other ways to feel these momentary highs. Seek them out.

For quitting things, as you probably know, I favor the 12-step method because it has added benefits: It helps you get your life together and is a lasting program of living. It is a community. It works for a lot of things.

When and how you quit is up to you. I can say that based on experience, it is definitely possible. You can quit and lead a normal, happy life, when you’re ready to. My bottom line is just that A) You should acquire new stress-relief methods first, before trying to quit, and B) what was B? Oh yeah, B) Don’t try to quit on your own. If and when you do decide to quit, do it with a group or a program behind you.

And, hey: Good luck. You sound like really nice people and I wish you the best in life. And say hello to the kids when they come. And say hello to the mountains.

Yeah, I know this isn’t all my fault, that it takes two to make a bad relationship, and all that. And certainly there are women — most of them — who wouldn’t even look my way. Great for them. But for those who are willing to look my way, don’t I have a basic human obligation to keep them safe from my horribleness and inevitable failures? Without exception I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing or just collapse.

So. Given that I contribute nothing to the world but disappointment and misery, and I can’t control my desire for companionship and attention, shouldn’t I just kill myself? Isn’t that the moral thing to do at this point?

A Dangerous Nothing

Dear Dangerous Nothing,

You, my friend, are exactly perfect the way you are. You’re not a moron!

Look on the bright side: You have a technique. Don’t wait to show her your bumbling, fumbling, weak and incompetent side.  Spill your soup on her now! On the first date. Roll your car over your own foot and have her take you to the emergency room. Come out of the bathroom with tape all over your face. Why? Because a person with tape all over his face looks funny!

It’ll break the ice. She’ll thank you for it!

Pour it on  about what a loser you are! That’ll get her going about how you just have low self-esteem and you’re being too hard on yourself.

If you are asking women to marry you and promising to fly them in your private jet to your villa in Portugal and saying you’ll pick them up at 8 o’clock sharp the next morning and then you are not showing up, then women are going to bed thinking about your private jet and then not getting to ride in it. That’s bad.

You should slap yourself in the face once very hard if you are doing that. Then you should force yourself to sell your imaginary private jet at a loss of millions of imaginary dollars.

But killing yourself wouldn’t make any sense at all, and it wouldn’t make anyone happy, not even you.

Besides, there are worse people.